My angel, I have no words to describe your beauty, any word is blasphemous.
There is a makeup, called Hepburn, that has been imitated, never surpassed. There is a kind of beauty called Hepburn. It does not touch a ray of fireworks in the world. It can only be imagined and cannot be spoken.
You were born into a noble family and were pampered by a rich life. But the situation is turbulent. Your father abandoned his wife and daughter, and you lived a poor life with your mother. Tall but scrawny, you still stick to your ballet practice.
From the drama to the screen, your nobility and beauty are suffocating and heart-wrenchingly beautiful.
Even if you die, even if you are old, even if you are seriously ill, you will still smile and pass on your love.
I still see that old man, with a noble temperament, his face carved into the vicissitudes of life can hardly hide his once-suntime elegance, holding the dark hands of African children, his eyes are endlessly gentle.
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