蘭亭集序兰亭集序

In the ninth year of Yonghe, the year guichou, at the beginning of late spring, we gathered at the Orchid Pavilion in Shanyin, in Kuaiji, for the spring purification. All the worthies came, young and old together. The place has high mountains and steep ridges, dense woods and tall bamboo, and a clear stream rushing over the rocks, its light reflected on either side. We led the water into a winding channel for floating the wine cups, and sat in order along its banks. Though there was none of the splendour of strings and flutes, a cup of wine and a poem were enough for each of us to share what was deep in our hearts. That day the sky was bright and the air was clear, and a gentle breeze blew softly. Looking up, we saw the vastness of the universe; looking down, we saw the abundance of all living things. Letting our eyes roam and our hearts range freely, we could enjoy to the full everything there was to see and hear. It was truly a joy.

When people live together in this world, a lifetime passes in the time it takes to look up and down. Some open their hearts in conversation within a single room; others give themselves to what they love and roam free beyond the bounds of the body. Though what they choose and what they reject differ in ten thousand ways, and some are quiet and some restless, when they are glad at what they meet and for a while have found themselves, they are content and satisfied, and do not notice that old age is coming. But when they tire of what they pursued, and feelings change with circumstances, a sadness follows. What delighted them a moment ago has, in the time of a glance, become a thing of the past, and still they cannot help being moved by it. And all the more so, since whether life is long or short, it follows the great change and comes in the end to its close. The ancients said: "Life and death are great matters indeed." How can this not be painful?

Each time I read the reasons the people of the past were moved, they match my own like the two halves of a tally. I have never read their words without sighing over them, though I could not explain it to myself. Now I know that to treat life and death as one is an empty fancy, and to say a long life and a short one are the same is a false claim. Those who come after will look on us as we look on those who came before. Is this not sad? So I have listed the people who were here and recorded what they wrote. Though times will be different and circumstances will change, what moves people is the same. Those who read this in later days will also be moved by these words.