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Quote on keep moving by Confucius

Quote on keep moving by Confucius


It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop. Confucius.


The Unwavering Journey: A Tale of Persistence


“It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop.” – Confucius

In the quiet village of Liuyang, nestled amidst rolling hills and terraced fields, lived a young potter named Mei. Her hands, calloused from shaping clay, moved deliberately across the potter’s wheel. Mei had a dream—to create a masterpiece that would transcend time. But her progress was painstakingly slow, like the gradual erosion of a riverbank. Yet, she clung to the wisdom of Confucius, knowing that each turn of the wheel brought her closer to her vision.

The Humble Beginnings

Mei’s pottery studio stood at the edge of the village, where the morning sun painted the walls in warm hues. She had inherited the craft from her grandmother, who whispered ancient secrets into her ear. Mei’s first attempts were lopsided, the glaze uneven. But she persisted, shaping one vessel after another, learning from each imperfection. The villagers watched, amused by her unwavering dedication.

The Whispering Kiln

Mei’s kiln, an old dragon of fire and smoke, held the promise of transformation. She stacked her creations inside, arranging them like puzzle pieces. As the flames danced, Mei listened—the crackling embers murmured encouragement. The heat fused clay and desire, turning raw earth into vessels that held stories. Mei’s heart swelled with hope; she knew she was on the right path.

Seasons of Patience

Years passed. Mei’s pottery graced tables and mantelpieces across the region. Yet, her masterpiece eluded her—a vase that would capture the essence of Liuyang’s changing seasons. Spring blossoms, summer rains, autumn leaves, and winter frost—they whispered their secrets to Mei. She molded, fired, and refined, never losing sight of her purpose. The villagers marveled at her persistence, comparing her to the patient bamboo that swayed but never snapped.

The Fading Sunset

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Mei sat by the riverbank. The water flowed steadily, like time itself. She traced her fingers along the vase she held—the culmination of years of effort. Its curves mirrored the hills, and its glaze shimmered like moonlight on the water. Mei knew this was it—the vessel that encapsulated her journey. Tears blurred her vision as she whispered, “I did not stop.”

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Written by pragya singh

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