A selection of beautiful essays describing tea

Life is like a cup of tea. Bitter as tea, fragrant as tea. The following is a selection of beautiful essays describing tea that I brought to you for your enjoyment.

Selected Works of Beautiful Prose Describing Tea Part I: Clear words, rhyme of tea lamps and notes have a rhythmic sense of stranding in the light and shadow of late autumn, just like my acacia when I boil water to make tea. After the tea smells, I will air-dry it into leaves and make it into a pillow to let you sleep peacefully. The night is hazy, half a century of me, a quiet dream, a fragrant wine glass.

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Autumn rhyme, maple red burns the moon, twist a drop of moonlight like water, light a candle for life in your heart, put it in your heart with a gentle man with flowers and half a sentence full of poetry, wait, or go through several years of vicissitudes, or cycle for generations, or travel through time and space, or trudge through Qian Shan, swimming through the blue waves in the long river of dreams, and wait, your poetic persistence will be completed. So, I sat in the teahouse of time, the tea was fragrant and half a cup of acacia was warm, and the charm was the glass of my life.

My language, staying in the color of a maple leaf, hides the vastness left by years to the earth and is quietly placed in the naked enthusiasm of autumn. Whispering in the east wind, a little affection, listening to the mountains and rivers, the wind full of thoughts floats far away, bid farewell to the light and shadow of this year, and then go far; My heart, how to pick it up, leaves a pool of autumn rhyme, crescent moon with low eyebrows, salvaged by autumn wind, swaying on the branches of maple leaves, telling my feelings, cicadas singing, sighing and charming flowers. As a result, the yearning for that cup of tea rises, haunts into a question mark, or disappears into an exclamation point!

A few days later, I once stole a long time, and I made an appointment with Zi. In the gap of time, I am flashy and happy. Tang style's ancient rhyme, Jing Ya's poems, painted the picture of my heart, moistened the soft heart sound, and made the fragrance overflow my heart. Therefore, my lovesickness with low eyebrows is as long as years.

In my dream, I looked for you on the exquisite stone carvings of the Great Wall. Clouds, cranes and blue clouds, the vicissitudes of the winding ancient road and the thousand turns of fallen leaves are playing immortal legends, quietly becoming a solemn and quiet gesture, swaying in the scenery inside and outside, with thousands of miles of jade wind and gurgling dew. Time goes back slowly, a tune lingers on the piano, accompanied by the teacups of the years, shallow and faint taste, deep feelings, dense into water mist, how can we see clearly, those swaying thoughts slowly fall in a corner of the season, who can know where to put them, safe. From the beginning to the end, I beat the time and meditated in the melodious rhythm of the piano I found. Which syllable can match the rhyme of tea fragrance?

The night looking for you is the shadow of a tree standing there in a daze, the night looking for you is a lonely street lamp, the night looking for you is a season, from lush spring to pure snow, the night looking for you is the hair of time, throbbing the thoughts of the soul and cleaning up the sadness like frost. Cherish the feelings in your heart quietly, simplicity is better than all infatuation in the world, that long yearning, and how much pursuit of piano sound. When was this pursuit finally satisfied?

The meeting of tea rhyme and piano sound makes the soul of words fragrant, and the poetic interpretation of fingertips is either sad or happy. The dusty heart wandering in the text has rich soil. In my heart, I went to the water's edge and went with the wind. Orchids were in full bloom, which made me feel quiet and beautiful in many lonely times. I am willing to wait quietly for the day when words are happy.

The thoughts in the article are as clear as a stream, the gurgling sound of running water passes by the heart street, and the rhyme in the tea fragrance is elegant with the sound of the piano. I think too much. In this regard, I have a flowering period, blooming but not dying, gentle and attached, and with the pouring of 3 thousand weak water, it has become a quiet, sweet and fragrant season. All the time, like water, it is a grand dance with the rhyme of Tang style.

As clear as a stream, it purifies earthly love. Perhaps, tea is a violet, and Qin is a confidant in this life? Under the moon, we light the candlelight that we cherish each other. By candlelight, we clap our hands and sing duets, touching the heartstrings of poetry, flying like the tidbits of heart sounds, interpreting the fame and fortune of indifferent life, gorgeous flowering period, touching the inner warmth, looking at each other in the sunset, leaning against the railing, such a piano sound, such a tea rhyme, such a book fragrance, coming with the clouds, quietly.

The soft dream of lovesickness, like ripples blooming in clear waves, stirs up inner tenderness, slowly disappears in the depths of water and light, and ripples away with shallow traces. The beauty beyond words has led to such an encounter. In the final analysis, it is like the quiet beauty of fallen leaves, dancing alone into the sorrow of this life and this life, calming all peaceful and quiet days. Deep in the soul, it is destined to meet words. Life is not only sadness or joy, but also a quiet.

Who can explain these dreams, who can accompany tea and Qing Xiang rhyme, sing songs with guqin on his back, warm books and save only a maple leaf? The feelings of missing, swaying in the wind, walking in the years, I can only, all the way, pick up all the way, belonging to the warmth of scholarly feelings, decorating the peach blossom garden in my heart with gorgeous words, whether I live in us or not, I still know my love.

Sip that cup of tea slowly, write poems and thoughts with a faint night, lightly drop the leisurely artistic conception of the book, leave a message outside the world of mortals painting, complain about how autumn sentiment renders wheatgrass, and pursue the footsteps that are always too late, quietly falling in the autumn wind this night.

The feeling of being stranded has a rhythm in the light and shadow of late autumn. I boil water like acacia for making tea. I will air-dry it into leaves after tea fragrance, and make it into a pillow for you to sleep. The fragrance is rich in the valley washed by your echo, and the melodious and beautiful range makes the years, tea fragrance, drunken piano sound, accompanied by books, and the night is a quiet dream. What kind of emotion does such words give? Every word, in my mind, is considered as a moment of youth, which is derived into quicksand in the dark.

Pick up the book and put it on the shelf. Looking at the endless night, how many fairy-like anger rises with the night, and we will fall asleep quietly.

Tea rhyme and piano sound, warm and scholarly feelings, feelings bewitched by the wind, gradually taking off the coat, gaunt and flowery, hidden in the heart, silent and warm!

Selected Works of Beautiful Prose Describing Tea Part II: Splash ink for you in this life, cook tea for you in the afterlife, stretch the picture of a thousand years, and quietly tell the affection of a touch of water and condensed fingertips. Can you understand? The memory of the sky is full of my deep and shallow monologues. Can you reach the other side of your heart and complain again? For the beauty of our first meeting, even though Yun Zheyue was locked in a cage, even though the water was poor and the mountains were heavy, I was still dusty. In this life, the years are short. You stirred my heartstrings with your clear voice, disturbed my fleeting time and made me fragrant all over the place, so I am willing to splash ink for you. Purple Butterfly

The winter night is a little cold, and the twilight is a ray of sorrow. I don't want to be confused, but my heart is burning. The wooden fence in front of the courtyard and the yellow calluses on the river bank are all plain colors, just like sad flowers blooming alone. I am always sad. The cold wind splashed the coolness of my heart, and the memories fell in my hand, without surprise. After all, everything in the world is inseparable from the ending of flowering dust, and it is inseparable from the fate of joys and sorrows. I am just a passing dust, which comes with the wind and goes with it. Gathering is unintentional, but dispersing is more impermanent. Whoever laughs at the world of mortals hates everything, and who has things between lovers.

Broken dust turns into rolling waves, and the fleeting time is still a sigh. MUBI, half a cup of residual light is easy to get cold, and a small note whispers sleepless things. Every word turns a thousand times, and the book has nowhere to send. How can you break it? If you are drunk, you will shed tears. If you are worried about being melted by wine, the moon will be short of flowers and wind, and the sky will be blue and clouds will fall. You will only lose the edge of reincarnation, and you will be a mirror of water. Look at it in vain, even if there is a brilliant zhanghua sentence, it is hard to hate. A heart, such as ink; Light tenderness, with years of drunkenness, the soft waves in your eyes reflect your little smile between your eyebrows; I am like the tenderness of water, flooding your heart and thinking of you as soon as I turn around. In the misty rain and the world of mortals, I will paint a floating world with you, watching the distant mountains smiling, watching the fine snow, playing a landscape with notes that I know each other, retaining words with blue and white ink, and melting warm thoughts in a shallow time. The scenery we walked together was clear, as if we had met for the first time.

Time passes quietly through your fingers like sand, scattered in the unknown world, the incomprehensible world, the unknown feelings, dreams and love, glitz like flying water, life is short, how many regrets will you leave? The smoke of past lives, the dust of this life, has become crystal clear snow, showing a hazy appearance, drawing a picture with ink, writing a funeral, wandering with dreams all my life, or perhaps meeting is always the most beautiful accident.

Mo Yun is fragrant, but there is a bone-eroding fragrance between the lines. There is no book fragrance on the tiled stationery, but it is full of long-lost pen and ink. I can't hold my beloved pen any longer, and I can't get rid of it. I have a clear spring with tears in my eyes, the moon in the east room, the shadow of flowers blowing, a trace of residual light shaking the sleeves, painting the earth and the moon, snuff can't solve winter worries, the night is even more leaking, bamboo and bamboo choke, and the tears keep flowing, and the dust is on stationery. Taking paper as ink, feelings are as strong as wine, and the charm flows in the pen. Although simple, it is sincere and gentle. I write about my tireless love all my life. Everything comes from words. In this life, I write my heart, hoping someone can understand. I want to be an ink-scented woman, fresh with words, worried about the world, slow down the world of mortals, and pour a faint charm for myself.

Flowers bloom only for butterfly fragrance, and patches of residual red are bruised. In this life, I came from the rain, washed away the dust in the world, rolled up the world of mortals, and lived a long life. How many people are eager to stay away from worldly troubles, not stained with red dust and rain, just want to live with white clouds, sleep with fallen flowers, sing a Zen song, cook a sentence, and accompany with poetry and wine. Like water flies, glitz becomes a shadow, and the world is like a dream. Who wants to cover the floating fireworks, touching the fingertips, dreaming into a beautiful dream, and touching the pen? In the graceful waning moon, that thrilling beauty will last forever. It's been many years, Hua Die's dream. What about the dust? If you are a stranger, you will be drunk as soon as you turn around, and it will be frosty and snowy, and you will easily catch a cold. How can the enemy be defeated and lost?

Who is it, three thousand prosperous, into your eyebrows; Who is it, green hills are like ink, and plain clothes has white hair; Who is it, under the bodhi tree, with a clear voice? Who warms his years, who surprises his time. Acacia is gentle. I'll write you a piece of stationery. I only hope that after many years of separation, I will fall into English everywhere and stop being sentimental. I am cold and strange, and my words are only love. My heart is in words, I use ink, a plain pen, and I will tell you that I am leaving my grief, and I am waiting for the end of the world with a simple heart. Who will light a green light for me and continue the Millennium fireworks? When the night star fell, I tasted the impermanence, sadness and joy of the world and saw the deep affection and shallow fate of the world. Looking back at the empty space, only a dream of the world of mortals is left. After leaving, the Iraqi people looked haggard.

Some things can be forgotten, some things can be commemorated, some things can be willingly, and some things are powerless. The sea used to be, didn't it? People who are always sad are more persistent; Goodbye, isn't it? Always soft and easy to cry. On the road of life, the corner is to meet you; Turn around and bless you. I only cherish words. If I have feelings in my heart, I will have no regrets about the company of this journey. Whether it is the helplessness of getting to know each other late or the melancholy of turning around, it has taken away the fragrance of that season and left countless pasts. Love is a pure emotion, and people who have a heart will miss each other no matter how far away they are. Careless people are close at hand but far away.

It's hard to complain about leisure in winter, and it's too long to worry about who to chase after. In this world of mortals, who is holding sadness; In this cold night of meditation, who expelled whose thoughts; Clouds are surging outside the window and the wine is hazy. Missing will always cross Qian Shan, and lovesickness will always return for thousands of days and nights. Spring goes to winter, and the lingering season after season warms the flowers of tree after tree; Those old feelings are floating, and those lingering memories are lush in the years; Holding a shallow brush to exile the years, blooming on the title page of life, warm and persistent; I only hope that this small stream will be accompanied by long safety and warmth, and a drunken beauty will flow; I am full of tenderness, gentle and warm in my hand, and worried eyes!

A fragrant tea ran aground, immersed in the ocean of words, listening to time telling traces. Gradually, I got used to indifference and indifference. Countless words condensed in my pen, stirred up waves, took a piece of paper, picked up an eternal smile in my heart, smoothed ripples, washed my soul and waited for flowers to bloom. Time flows quietly, like a gurgling stream, with quiet thoughts, and like lilacs in spring, emitting a touch of bitterness, twisting a touch of heart sound, looking at the time, pointing to a flick, and writing a sad text.

In this life, you are me, dyed red, dispelled sad thoughts and passed by. You poured into my city, you occupied my heart, blossomed and fell in love. Through the promenade of the season, you turn into a faint fragrance, enchanting every morning and evening, fragrant as water, and beautiful years are within reach. In this life, butterflies love flowers, flowers love butterflies, flowers wither and butterflies return? Love that comes and goes in a hurry, don't leave sorrow, lovesickness becomes pollution, Iraqis have become autumn in their hearts, not for the moment of meeting, but for time, for a holy love, and for a permanent afterlife. In the next life, Iraqis will cook tea for you, make incense, dilute slices, light red lips and dress only for you; In the next life, I will live with you, watch the grass grow and the warblers fly, watch the summer lotus ripple, listen to the autumn wind send geese flying south, and watch the snow make up the mountains and rivers enchanting.

Selected Works of Beautiful Prose Describing Tea Part III: Tea Language Life likes to enjoy a pot of fragrant tea on a quiet night, accompanied by strong tea fragrance, and clear up the chaotic thoughts. Quietly looking at a leaf, rolling and precipitating in the cup again and again, a glass of water from strong to weak, and tasting a pot of tea from fragrant to weak.

Bai Luomei said? Drink a cup of tea until it is tasteless, read a Kubinashi rhyme song, read a book without words, and love someone unintentionally. ? Light time, a cup of tea, chess, poetry and painting, let the dull days be leisurely and elegant in the fragrance.

Throughout the ages, the four seasons change, flowers bloom and fall, and the mountains and rivers of the years have long lost their former colors in the cycle of morning and evening. Only a wisp of tea fragrance floated across the bright moon in Qin Dynasty and settled in a glass of water.

A cup of tea, regardless of the rank, celebrities, rural Ye Fu, in their spare time, can hold a cup of fragrant tea, watch the flowers bloom in front of the court, enjoy the clouds rolling in the sky, and talk about the past and the present. Fine and slow kungfu tea, swearing and drinking big bowls of tea all make elegant days faint with fragrance.

The fate of tea and water, neither early nor late, seems to be a thousand-year invitation. Tea is the most beautiful scenery of water, and water is the return of tea. When we meet, we don't need to talk about flowers and moons, and we don't need to talk about the joy of reunion after a long separation. It's just a subtle interdependence. Tea releases the most beautiful fragrance in life for water. Water with tea is sweet and bitter, and we will never give up.

Meeting and knowing each other in life may be an agreement in a previous life, and the reunion of two people is for the oath of seal cutting on Sansheng stone. In the sea of people, an eyebrow meets an eye, and the heart is in harmony. I didn't meet and hate each other, and I didn't miss it. It happened that I was there when you came. Simple meeting, simple getting along, seeing through the wind and rain together, bathing in vicissitudes of life.

A cup of tea is bitter when it is strong and tasteless when it is weak. A cup with the right color can always make people memorable. Accompanied by a favorite person, holding a lamp in the breeze, looking up at or inviting the west wing of the bright moon, there is no music, no wealth, and relative silence. Take a sip of fragrant tea in your hand, taste the opportunity of tea and water, and share weal and woe.

The life of tea is full of ups and downs. It experienced the attack of wind and rain, accepted the pain of separation when picking, and released its fragrance in a cup of boiling water after high temperature baking and sun drying. The lingering fragrance adds charm to Tang poetry and Song poetry, and also adds fragrance to spring flowers and autumn moons.

Spring, summer, autumn and winter, flowers bloom and fall, trudging through the world of mortals, it is inevitable to stumble, and it is inevitable to leave all the way together. Success or failure of honor and disgrace is also common. Only with a simple and elegant heart, look down on the glitz in the world, smile at the ups and downs, whether it is new clothes or death, we must face it calmly and calmly.

A journey of scenery, a journey of life, and every journey of life, fate has arranged different scenery and opportunities for us. The road of life will not always be sunny, nor will it always be full of spring. No matter what kind of encounters and hardships, I believe that fate has made the best arrangements for our growth.

Tea has always had an appointment with Zen. Zen temple, a quiet place, can't hold wine and meat, but it has a soft spot for tea. Pilgrims and travelers who worship the Buddha can get a bowl of green tea in the meditation hall of the temple. Burning incense, the sound of wooden fish, piety and kindness, spotless before the Buddha, drinking a cup of light vegetarian tea, cultivating the mind and nourishing the nature, and striving for peace with the world.

Fireworks people, ordinary people, life is as light as tea, and there is sweetness in bitterness. On a quiet day, I was safe and sound in a pot of tea. Going out early and returning late, I will make a pot of tea, enjoy my children's affection on my knees and show my filial piety to Gaotang. You don't need delicacies, it's gorgeous, and happiness is already full of eyebrows.

Holding a cup of tea, whether it is a friend who has never turned against me or a chance meeting, there are tea, water, a coffee table, several benches, worldly affairs, short-lived parents and past grievances, all of which are fragrant between your lips and teeth.

In the late Qing Dynasty, Pu Songling entertained guests with a cup of tea at a busy intersection, and all the past and future events came in a cup of tea. Perhaps those monsters, foxes and fairies all found the fragrance of tea, and in the dead of night, they escaped into Mr. Pu's cup in the moonlight breeze. It was a legendary story from a strange studio.