Hui1 in Chinese / Japanese...

灰 is the Chinese, Japanese, and Korean word for ash or ashes.

This can also refer to dust, lime, or gray. When speaking of emotions in Chinese, it can refer to being discouraged or dejected.

In Japanese, this can be the surname, Hai.

灰 is the color Gray Mandarin Chinese.

You can use this to represent your name if your given or surname happens to be Gray. This also means ash or lime (the mineral) depending on context.

暉 is a Kanji that often represents a Japanese name romanized as Hikari.

The literal meaning can be sunshine, light, or to shine upon. It has the same meaning in Chinese and Korean. From ancient Chinese, it is a variant of 輝/辉.

Other Japanese romanizations include Hikaru, Hikatsu, Teru, Terasu, Ki, and Akira.

灰色 is the Chinese, Japanese Kanji, and old Korean Hanja for the color gray.

This can also mean ash gray, grizzly, pessimistic, gloomy, dispirited, ambiguous (not black and white), and the alternate spelling grey.

恢復 is a Chinese and Japanese word that means rehabilitation.

Other definitions include to reinstate, restore, recover, regain, rehabilitate, restoration, recovery (from an illness), return, or recuperation.

恢復力 suggests having the power to recover, restore, and rehabilitate. This can refer to yourself, someone else, or even to something, like rehabilitating a burned forest. 恢復力 is the essence of resilience in life.

The first two characters are a word that means to reinstate, resume, restore, recover, regain, or rehabilitate, restoration, rehabilitation, recovery, return, improvement, recovery (from an illness), recuperation, or convalescence.

The last character means strength or power.

See Also:  Tenacity | Perseverance

誰言寸草心報得三春暉 is the last line of a famous poem. It is perceived as a tribute or ode to your parents or mother from a child or children that have left home.

The poem was written by Meng Jiao during the Tang Dynasty (about 1200 years ago). The Chinese title is “You Zi Yin” which means “The Traveler's Recite.”

The last line as shown here speaks of the generous and warm spring sunlight which gives the grass far beyond what the little grass can could ever give back (except perhaps by showing its lovely green leaves and flourishing). The metaphor is that the sun is your mother or parents, and you are the grass. Your parents raise you and give you all the love and care you need to prepare you for the world. A debt that you can never repay, nor is repayment expected.

The first part of the poem (not written in the characters to the left) suggests that the thread in a loving mother's hands is the shirt of her traveling offspring. Vigorously sewing while wishing them to come back sooner than they left.
...This part is really hard to translate into English that makes any sense but maybe you get the idea. We are talking about a poem that is so old that many Chinese people would have trouble reading it (as if it was the King James Version of Chinese).

即興發揮即刻適應即時克服 is the coolest way to put together this famous word list, “Improvise Adapt Overcome.”

There are shorter ways to write “adapt,” and “overcome,” but “improvise” needs a four-character word to be expressed accurately in Chinese. To match them up, the other two are using four-character words as well. This makes it sound more natural in Chinese (though word lists are not a natural construct in Chinese grammar).

The words break down like this: 即興發揮, 即刻適應, 即時克服. I suggest the 3-column option when you customize your wall scroll. That way, the words will occupy one column each.

A great gift for a U.S. Marine, or anyone who follows this mantra.