Correspondents tell of beauty, wealth and parental worries

Letter from 19-year-old student Gao Xing to Xu, 22, from Kunming:

I've finally watched the documentary you recommended, And Yet The Books. I like it so much, especially the lovers' story. They have the same hobby and support each other. They obtain beautiful things through sharing. It reminds me of the book 84 Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff.

By watching documentaries, I learn that in the same world and at the same time, so many people are doing such interesting things.... There are still many stories that have not been recorded. I hope we can discover them.

Letter from a pen pal to Si Youhui, a clerk from Nanjing:

I have read the book The Why Cafe by John Strelecky. Although this is a kind of idealism, I still found something practical in it. Why should we only do what we desire after we retire? I talked about this with my friends, and they all agree with settling down first by purchasing property and cars, instead of doing what they want.

I am speechless. We see things differently. I don't think properties and cars are a source of happiness. I feel that those who become rich do not have more happiness than other people. Excessive wealth will only bring inanity at the end of the day. I agree a lot with Arthur Schopenhauer, a German philosopher, who said: "Life is a group of desires. If the desires are not satisfied, it will be painful. When satisfied, it will be boring. Life will swing between pain and boredom. It's kind of philosophy that returns to the original nature."

Letter from her mother to Li Liuxi, 26, from Chengdu, sent when Li was a baby:

My dear daughter, your cry wrenches my heart. Today, you cried the most, especially after your grandmother left. I know why. You were bored playing alone, and wanted some company. I could not comfort you, because I had something to do. What worries me the most is that I left home to buy groceries, putting you on the carpet for safety. When I returned and went upstairs, I heard you crying. I found that you were no longer on the carpet. After searching, I discovered you under the table, grabbing a chair to stand up. I couldn't help crying myself when I saw your anxious eyes looking for me. I kept silently repeating: "Sorry, my daughter."