Invited United States Methodist Hospital Research Institute

A copy of the time, write a tie the old words, between the lines, the breeze with the breeze of the moon scene, with the quiet Huang Lei Ju situation, read in the eyes, is a story, read in the past, is a heart sound , Read in the years, is a forest Jing Hao.
Red is long, blowing endless sadness most likely to fans, turning chapter of the most vulnerable to heartbroken, high clear sky, Jimuyuantiao, who Xiang Yi in the river floor. Who, alone guarding the window children, dipped in surplus sleeve of the subtle fragrance, the research of the Indus twilight drizzle, falling thin than the yellow text, saying that still? Who is the autumn wind tragic fan, to three of the plum blossom, in the heartbroken voice in the memory of his life? Who, because of the know, Phi dressed in compassion, because of the good, from the dust in the open a flower, but also from the flowers in a lifetime of loneliness?
Far away, those vine-like growth of sadness, those near-heartbreak of the view. But time, quietly left behind a statue of the statue of the back, in every line dejected poem, pouring all the way to fragrance, built on a dike scenery. The scenery is carefully brewed a pot of wine, need to be a suitable place to open at the right time, will mellow full. Yes, for the rhythm of the four seasons handed down, a person is often used to the opening season of joy, bloom spring, snow search for plum, accustomed to a gradually getting better and melodious and prosperous, moonlight Hawthorn, late According to Maple, and the most can not be overlooked is often the one intoxicated silence, a blank, or even just a rest rest in silence, a light music sound curl, because they are not only in attracting, but also in the Spun deeply, that deeply gurgling stream that heart, deeply moved in the depths of the years hidden in a vivid picture.
Silent, always in the story of precipitation, but after the sublimation in the precipitation. Life of a painting, the picture contains too many tragic hi ink, mixing with too much bitter music tone. No end, there is no end, that way a way of life of the landscape, the vicissitudes of the story of all the past, but also wash the days of the flat ze ze, painted a heart on the touch of calm, a quiet. Sadness will eventually melt in the tranquil minds of the stream into the clear stream, the frustrations will eventually freeze, reminiscent of the description of the distance into a line of waterfront. In the face of the colorful life, looking for, the results concentrated in a light word, open your heart and found that many of the past, but streamer whisper, how to choose itself is a no solution, how the answer itself Is a touch of pure, weak water 3000, just take a scoop, the world, but for the simple.
Inadvertently, the time in possession of the kind of warm, such as a ray of Xifeng, blowing over the crevices of sitting, falling into the imagination of the courtyard. How many memories into the back, how many back and engraved into memory, bit by bit, so that the text has a temperature, so that memories have poetic. Childhood play away, and that turned a page, it seems that can back down like a stream; hometown of smoke away, and that the landscape across the shore, vaguely reproduce in the accent. Some of the story has been fragmented, many details but Huan was clean, plain, warm inch inch, warm combing the wind and rain friendship love affection.
Long reverie, line with the line, back to his heart. Solitude is a form of loneliness is a way to the Nanshan of the firewood Chrysanthemum Chrysanthemum, Dongshan also leads to the moon breeze. At this time, a person's time, flowing between the lines, clarity bottomed out, the mind is transparent, thin like a moonlight. This is a quiet world, no hustle and bustle, no bustling, the summer, to see both tires, winter, fishing alone can be cold river snow, looked down on a few lines verse, silent self-illumination, dust wind does not disturb. At this time, you can hide in the story of those who have read throbbing, retrieve those who have been covered with vines of mind, you can in the dark corner of a bright window to open their own, so that the distant memory of the moon Qu, blowing themselves, and instantly become a self-appreciation, to eliminate the unprovoked lost, converted to the inner Bodhi, without a cup of tea, half a book, already leisurely, comfortable since the drag.

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