A beautiful sentence describes the calligraphy of the forest of steles. A copy of a beautiful sentence describes the calligraphy of the forest of steles.

One move, one look, take off your horse and fly away; Another example is the dragon flying in the sky, which comes from nothingness and returns to nothingness. It is almost crazy and contains the aura of heaven and earth.

Look at its strength without losing, its posture without showing, and its pen is flowing.

Du Shijie is strong and physically strong, and his paintings and calligraphy are slightly thin. If there are no leaves in the frost forest, the waterfall will fly.

Floating like a cloud, agile like a dragon. Iron book silver hook, the most ancient and modern.

Pick up the pen and daub it a few times, and a dragon will jump out of the paper. The dragons he painted are lifelike, magnificent and varied. Chen Rong often doesn't draw the whole dragon, or the dragon's head, or the dragon's claws, flickering, as if to smell its sound, as if to see its shape, and splashing ink into clouds, spraying water to melt the fog, which is wonderful, and it is called "Suo Wenglong" (as Chen Rong said).

The glyphs are staggered, big and small, open and closed, and the line thickness changes obviously, with ups and downs. The last line is crooked, so crooked that it is almost overwhelming. But this tendency is not blunt, but more freedom, which embodies his arbitrary side and has his own style. Chen Rong took a steep stance, and his writing was oblique or positive, heavy or light, with a beauty of "she began to vent her anger like a thunderbolt". He writes quickly, with a strong pen and great effort.

Liang Wudi Xiao Yan comments on Wang Xizhi.

Huai Su, like a strong man wielding a sword, seems to be moving, but in fact he twists and turns.

Pen and ink to write the Spring and Autumn Period, Fang Qiu spent a lot of money. Flowing clouds, splashing ink like wine.

Flowers are suffocating and people want to break the Zen, but their mood is actually past middle age. How does it feel to miss poetry in spring? Eight boats on the beach.

Floating like a cloud, agile like a dragon, the breeze out of the sleeve, the moon in my arms.

Or hug each other, or dance, or save neatly, or stagger up and down, or hold high in the shade, or choose to wear it yourself.

Searching for ancient feelings in the Woods of the Poetry Garden, singing on the shady road. Although Lanting is far away, don't ask pedestrians for directions.