Collection of some root tools
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Immortals and Buddhas are vast and distant, neither achieved, only knowing that in the solitary night an unequal cry sounds. The wind sweeps away the drifting sadness and tears of songs, the muddy fluff attracts a name of fickleness. Nineteen out of twenty people are worthy of a disdainful glance; one in a hundred is a scholar of no practical use. Do not let poetry scrolls bring sorrow and become omens; spring birds and autumn insects make their sounds on their own.
A single slap destroyed the catastrophe of all living beings, and the catastrophe of all living beings ceased to exist from then on. The scholar was eating ramen, and the bloody hand held a phone. The two of us looked at the catastrophe of all living beings, unexpectedly, the catastrophe of all living beings was raising itself and surrendering to us from within...~~
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