Such are the thoughts which assail me since one fine Bysakh morning I awoke amidst fresh breeze and light, new leaf and flower, to find that I had stepped into my twenty-seventh year.

Fine art works should be like sunshine from blue sky and breeze in spring that will inspire minds, warm hearts, cultivate taste and clean up undesirable work styles.

The voice of today joke, the pleasant breeze bright moon of tonight, fine but not the abyss of time, haven't come yet and share the last of wine, but want each rush thing.