Xueqin Cao

Truth becomes fiction when the fiction's true;
Real becomes not-real where the unreal's real.

The cunning waste their pains;
The wise men vex their brains;
But the simpleton, who seeks no gains,
With belly full, he wanders free
As drifting boat upon the sea.

Truth becomes fiction when the fiction's true. Real becomes Not-Real when the Unreal's Real.

When grief for fiction’s idle wordsNo remedy but love Can make the lovesick well; Only the hand that tied the knot Can loose the tiger’s bell.

More real than human life appears, Reflect that life itself’s a dream And do not mock the reader’s tears.

Any doctor will do in an emergency.

Better by far the destiny of plant or stone, bereft of knowledge and consciousness, but blessed at least with purity and peace of mind!

The mighty sturgeon has his pool; The stork upon the dam makes his habitation. Fish in scaly armour, Birds in serried plumes, find protection. In my distress I question that inscrutable expanse: O bowels of earth! O boundless sky! Will ye not hearken to my cry? Above, the twinkling Milky Way; The air cold, Slanting moonlight, The water-clock sunk past midnight. My restless heart grieves still.