"The river's blue, the bird a perfect white, The mountain green with flowers about to blaze. I've watched the spring pass away again, When will I be able to return?"

"My thatched roof is torn by autumn winds—the village boys steal my thatch."

"The river is so wide, even the birds can’t cross it."

"The ladle's cast aside, the cup not green, The stove still looks as if a fiery red. To many places, communications are broken, I sit, but cannot read my books for grief."

"How I long to lie down in some gully, alone and untrammeled! But I laugh at myself: an old madman growing older, growing madder."