Reluctant to read

 　　As a child, like all children, I had a special fascination with candy. If I got one or two candies, I would clutch them tightly in my hand, put my hand in my pocket, and caress them for a long time, reluctant to put them in my mouth. Even if I placed them on my tongue, I would try to let them linger for a while. That way, it seemed like there was more, a longer anticipation, making the happy days feel so long.

　　Now, I feel the same way when faced with a good book. Every time I encounter a good book, although I am incredibly eager to read it, I still can't bear to rush through it. I need to suppress my passion, give myself time to organize my thoughts, clarify my psychological needs, give myself space to open my mind, and prepare to accept it.

　　I always believe that rushing to seize beautiful things is irrational; doing so only yields superficial glamour, while its profound beauty needs to be savored slowly with a calm mind. Now, I can completely understand the seemingly tedious rituals of bathing, changing clothes, and burning incense before reading in ancient times. It was not merely a formality of respect for the elegant act of reading, but rather a way to prepare oneself psychologically in advance, to earnestly and deeply experience its beautiful realm. Only in this way can we savor the words in good books, letting them slowly permeate our hearts, subtly influencing us until we truly understand their inherent beauty.

　　Reading is like experiencing love. Love at first sight seems to be the most perfect emotion, but without the tempering of time and the communication of ideas, this most beautiful feeling may become an illusion, resentment, or even be perceived as deception. Therefore, love at first sight is not love in the true sense; and so, being so engrossed in reading day and night is not true enjoyment of reading. We may have experienced many relationships, leaving only faint shadows, and read many books that we thought were interesting and engaging at the time, which have now long since vanished.

　　Reading is also like savoring tea or drinking wine; it requires small sips, letting it swirl on the tongue before slowly swallowing. Only by taking it slowly can we appreciate its depth.

　　The deepest memories are those of having loved deeply and for a long time, whether it be love, tea, wine, books, or words. For example, using such language to describe the relationship between classical Chinese literature and nature is something that probably no one will forget. "In the so-called 'Three Hundred Poems,' almost all the authors begin by naming plants and animals before they can openly express their thoughts; supposedly there's an inherent connection, but more often than not, they're unrelated yet connected... The Chu Ci is entirely verdant and fragrant, suggesting the author lived in a cave or nest, and naturally didn't wear textiles. Han Fu, with its penchant for grandiose achievements, listed almost every character with the radicals for metal, wood, water, and fire, adding the genealogy of birds, beasts, and fish, as if saying to 'nature': 'I know you deeply.' By the Tang Dynasty, flowers shed tears and birds startled the heart; humans and nature looked at each other in a state of mutual indifference." "Weary, I raise my cup to invite the bright moon, not stopping until the candle burns to ashes; this cannot be merely explained by 'personification,' 'empathy,' or 'description of objects.'" Song lyrics, following the "joy turning to sorrow" of Tang poetry, shifted towards a decadent attitude towards nature. While refined and fresh in style, though their breath was fragrant, their pulse ultimately weakened. Perhaps realizing that the best words for connecting humanity and nature had been exhausted, in frustration, they transformed flowers, trees, birds, and beasts into bewitching immortals, enchanting spirits, directly engaging in intimate conversations with humans, sharing joys and sorrows like worldly affairs.

　　To be able to discern such subtle, almost imperceptible, connections between words requires a love of books like a devoted lover, a painstaking and meticulous reading—only then could one truly grasp this tender, lingering affection!

　　As for reading, I don't like to steal moments from my busy schedule. For me, reading is not a pastime, not a snack, but a regular nourishment for the soul. Whenever I decide to read, I always choose a weekend or holiday. Shedding my "armor," I don comfortable loungewear and soft-soled shoes; I neither invite nor receive guests; the curtains are half-drawn, the room warm and airy; I prepare some food, but avoid cooking; I pull out a long-awaited good book, a pen at hand, find a comfortable position on the sofa or hanging chair, immerse myself, and savor the comfort of the book, jotting down my thoughts from time to time.

　　Some books on my desk have been read, others remain unopened. I'm not in a hurry to remove the read books, nor will I let the unread ones gather dust. I will reread the read books, letting those beautiful sentences once again roll before my eyes and in my heart like gentle waves. The unread books remain like magnificent temptations, drawing me in, and I will give them pure space for thought, allowing them to linger.

　　Reluctance to stop reading stems from a desire to preserve beautiful memories and aspirations for longer and with greater meaning!