Yesterday like flowers, today like snow
Yesterday, the snow was like flowers; today, the flowers are like snow.
Cherry blossoms like a beautiful woman; beauty fades easily.
At this hour, clouds resemble grass; at this hour, grass resembles clouds.
Willow branches resemble graceful young women; white hair is difficult to unfold.
Cherry blossoms like snow; slender, scattered petals like spring blossoms.
Spring blossoms; youth is not yet understood; already lightly parted; cherry blossoms like butterflies.
Mirroring hearts in layers; mirroring hearts in layers.
At spring time; one does not contemplate the moon; it is rash.
One appreciates flowers—there is a time and place for it; it's impulsive.
It's all a moment of foolishness.
Winter flowers are best after fresh snow, after the snow clears, under the new moon, in a warm room.
Summer flowers are best after rain, in a cool breeze, under the shade of a beautiful tree.
Best in a bamboo grove, at a water pavilion.
Cool flowers are best in the moonlight, at sunset, on an empty porch.
Best among moss-covered paths, along ancient vines and rocky edges.
If one doesn't consider the wind or the day, and doesn't choose a good place…
To scatter one's breath and lose one's composure; a quiet state, without seeking explanation.
Is this any different from the flowers in a brothel or tavern?
—The Histories of the Tangby Yuan Hongdao
A beauty to the extreme
Any language
becomes superfluous
——
