Urban Family

Famous Quotes of Xi Murong

By Peter Chen, 2019-03-08 08:31:07

Xi Murong, born in 1943, Mongolian Ethnic Group, a modern painter, poet and writer.

In 1959, Xi entered National Taiwan Normal University majoring in Fine Art. In 1964, Xi studied Senior Oil-Painting at the Academie Royale des Beaux-Arts, in Belgium. From there, she got multiple awards. In February 1966, Xi held her first art exhibition in Beijing and another debut in Taiwan in 1974. She is most famous for her poetry, especially the collections Qi li Xiang (Seven-li scent) and Wuyuan de Qingchun (Unregrettable Youth).

Most of her works focus on love, life and nostalgia, beautifully written for limpid elegance and lyric subtleties. Her passionate love for life has had an influence on the growth of a whole generation.

Love does not need to be life-long, agreeable with faint scents afloat.

Youth is a book of haste, for us to read over and over with tears.

I finally believe that each path we have trudged up has its own reason for us to do so, so as the way downward.

If it’s wrong at the beginning, why it’s so wrongly beautiful?

Time is not truly lost but only disappears before us. It turns around to hide itself inside our heart and slowly changes our looks.

All joys and sorrows have turned to ashes. Whatever the path for me to take, I will not be in company with you.

Not all are aware of the implication of time, neither do they know how to cherish it. There is no bound-to-part-or-age destiny but your trust in love.

Why does happiness, in the long journey of our life, often pop up and fade away quickly, with the quickest being the happiest? And it occurs to me, in between, what’s left with me is merely a blurred face and an irretraceable road.

When I finally got the answer to the riddle, I realized all are bygone and the riddle itself has been replaced with time.

Happiness in love enjoys the same vibe, while unfortunate ones are caused in various ways, among them ‘too-early’ or ‘too-late’ being the most frequently used excuses.

Memory is a piece of rose bearing no petals, in no way will it fade.

Not because of the unforeseeable that you don’t want to take that beautiful vow, and not because of a possible departure that you dare not pursue your love.

I don’t mean to miss it, but keep it to myself. I have missed yesterday that was fully bloomed and I am going to miss the day today.

Knowing clearly it’s going to be a lonely show, with or without flowers, I still want to be the best actress in my own life.

There are something in this world beyond our explanations. I must accept my humble-self and helplessness.

It must be my most beautiful moment when I managed to let you come over.

We will be strangers unto life, and I will bow to you in dusk. Take care, though everything in this world will finally perish.

The road will be long and endless if you look forward, but as short as a flash of dream if you look back.

All things in this world can hurt; change can hurt, so does non-change. All should hold that unforgettably mulish heart to blame.

Not seeing you again, or if not, the one I will meet is not the person in my heart but merely the time-beaten face.

When we were young, we danced together for someone, for love, or for the same token of loneliness; how come, after many years, when we have the same lonesome reason as before, we prefer to remain strangers to each other?

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