The shady was put away, and what broke through the air was IRIS, who was swimming in the small river pond with his limbs stretched out. A piece of clear and misty, young IRIS is like a wagging fish in a pond.
Every human soul has seen, perhaps even before their birth, pure forms, such as justice, temperance and beauty, and all the grate moral qualities which we hold in honour. We are moving towards what is good by the thick memory of these forms.
Simple and calm and blessed, which we saw once in the pure clear lights, being pure as ourselves. All
her life, she has been pursuing freedom, beauty, love and eternity. As her husband said, the people he loves understand the language of angels, she talks with them, and she occasionally enters that mysterious world. No one knows, only she knows.
She is a philosopher and also writes novels.
People always become secret of many reasons but want to become what we call ordinary. Everybody has force they want to conceal.
People have obsessions and fears and passion which they don't commit to. I think every character is interesting and has extremes.
It's novelist's privilege to see how odd everyone is.
There is only one kind of freedom, and that is our thought. However, in her later years, she suddenly got Alzimmer's disease.
She often forgets. And accidentally remembered.
All kinds of past. she. he. And those strangers who are insignificant but hidden deep in their hearts. It doesn't matter to him. But she said the names of those romantic and shallow men while sharing the bed with him at night. He was violent. He said he was a bad cat, and now her friends are far away, only he is still there, but he doesn't want her anymore.
He took her to the pond, she put on her swimsuit and dived into the water. She was scared. The memories that have been wiped away have taken away the wisdom and talents of her past. Fortunately, at the moment when this long road was approaching, he was with him—a short, unremembered name, John.
I remember the two of them leaning on each other and strolling along the familiar seashore. The sea was still rough, but she was absent wildly. The sky is wet. She was sitting alone on the beach, tearing off blank pages of paper from the notebook and pressing them with stones to prevent them from being blown away by the wind. My friend Janet took a photo for him. She sat alone on the beach. The world is unpredictable, who can think that the woman who was once overturned and beautiful has left such a dying back. Perhaps she knew it, and then pushed away all the stones, letting Fengwu scramble away the thin and discrete paper.
On the day of Janet's funeral, John was invited to attend and give a speech.
Love is gone, life will pass.
The journey back was up and down. Iris pulled the car door and fell out. John hurriedly stopped, looked around, and was hurriedly hit by the car down the road. In the darkness, he caught a glimpse of her lying not far away. He ran to her. She smiled, just like when they were young, she laughed after falling down the stairs when they were attending a prom. She smiled, looked at him, and said, I love you.
In the Anyang Center, Iris dances solo in the sun. She was quiet when she died. John shook her wrinkled hand, which was fading from her body temperature, and said.
Iris Murdoch
Iris Murdoch
Iris Murdoch
is a legend that belongs to her, a story that belongs to her alone. Although the movie tells the story of the two, it is not the sorrow of John Bayley himself. He followed her all his life, but she didn't want to be tripped by him; when she was young, she had countless lovers, until the end of the year, she never stopped-she had forgotten everything, she had run away from him. She was very quiet when she died, and she had forgotten about personnel.
Zhang Ailing once wrote at the end of "There are Lesbian Cars" that "women talk about men all their lives, think about men, and complain about men, forever and ever." But Iris is not. Freedom and love occupies all of her. She is like a fiery ball of fire, full of heart to send peace to the world, but it burns herself and stings the person who embraces her. She loves this world. She loves men and is willing to accept women. She just loves this way. In love, soaring freely in the city of angels structured by her own language, that is her world, that is her choice, and she has made no mistakes.
Young Iris and John are riding bicycles together. John couldn't catch up, hoping she would slow down, she yelled
Just keep tight holding of me, and it will be all right
Iris speeded up the downhill, laughing.
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