Mal! Mal!...
Sure enough, location is the most moving emotional imagery. Like Monet's berm, like Phil's reminiscence of BH's riverside. French carries my love for Faye and my French regrets.
Every time I sit in the French chair, I feel like I'm in the cinema where Vincent and Jacques first met. I'm always looking around, expecting to see a certain French face, hoping that maybe one of them is wearing the shirt of a frustrated writer, and like me, I'm looking for faces among strangers that can make me dream of Paris in a trance.
I was hopelessly in love with France, French, French men, French women again.
I think that the way of courtship should be obviously ethnic. Because love, inevitably, always occurs in all concrete things: the tall and narrow door frame, the radiator by the window, the woman running across the street looking left and right, the dim corridor, the spiral staircase...all of these Has a heartbreakingly painful temperament.
I've never seen a movie as painful as "Love". From the beginning to the end, it is just a step by step towards a more and more clear pain. She is hopeless. But they seem to be accustomed to pain, especially love, and it seems that only pain and patience are the virtues of love. In the end I couldn't bear to read it because everything was so bad.
Anna lives only for George. How could George accept that? As a pianist, Anna lost all her pride because of the half-body paralysis. When she was dying, she could only cry out a pleading "It hurts! It hurts!". They are so in love, so in love...
What's the point of love if it's neither warm nor long-lasting?
I will never forget that after George's story is told, the lives of two people are leaning on each other to the end...
Tonight, I'm the rat of Paris again.
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