You are the most beautiful wilderness ghost in the world

Tomas 2022-01-23 08:02:18

This is a coincidence. I just finished watching "The Great Gatsby" just a few days ago, and it took almost a whole summer.

The last woman in Fitzgerald’s life was called Sanda. She was extremely extravagant and had a quirky temperament. People say that she destroyed the last great writer of the "Jazz Age." He found that in the last few years of his life, tobacco, alcohol, extravagant hopes, dreams and all the gorgeous bubbles that floated above life have obliterated him. He copied a large part of Sunda's diary and wrote it into himself. Works, but his time has passed, no one cheered for him, then? Then they all died and were buried together later.

Shanda’s words are dexterous and beautiful, and she still lyrics for him in her diary: "The moon fell like a lost coin into the mountains, the grass is gloomy and pungent, I want you to come closer, I touch you, like the calm of autumn, Even with a little bit of the last echo of summer."

How wonderful is that, this movie actually tells the same story.

Many, many people do not believe in fate. It is like a pair of big hands hidden behind the sky, pushing waves of people to their train, or forward or backward. Talent is a sinful word. God has given it. What you do, something will be taken away.

This is fair, like a deal.

Those masterminds are very obedient people. They can hear their own inner voice, and then follow this voice to the wilderness, to the water cliff, to the deep forest, to the ghost palace, to the land of the undead.

In the roar of the industrial revolution, Paris in the nineteenth century was still beautiful, with dense haze and beautiful sunrise. The people who lived in this city were with Hugo, Balzac, Rodin, and Dumas. These names are reverberating around the world. They Many years ago, they were just ordinary teenagers with their own troubles, but after many years, they became characters, flowing in the genes of people's common memory.

Yes, great people are the classic chapters, tragic stories, vicissitudes of writing, abundant emotions, endless humane anecdotes, and the noble character that supports their skeletons.

But does anyone remember Camille, the lover of the famous sculptor, the only thing she did in her life was to destroy herself.

There is a beautiful saying: There is a portrait of you hidden in the stone. I just picked up the carving knife and looked for your appearance. But what is the shape of jealousy, lust, laziness, madness, and greed in the complex human body, and how to carve them one by one with a carving knife, and leave them in the tall Louvre palace for people to admire.

Young girls, those men who kiss your bright red lips and embrace your soft waist, just admire your beautiful face, is there someone who really loves your tortured face, no, it’s just a novel , The female writer who wrote the novel later died of drinking.

Camille spent all his talents, love, time and dreams in a summer rainy love, but when the rain stopped, the men put on suits and walked out, another real world full of dangers. There are his wives and children, they rely on him like animals, what love and lust, beauty and fun, hell, are you kidding me?

Don’t blame the world for not understanding genius, they are paranoid and crazy, they never listen to persuasion or bow their heads, just I could hear my own inner voice, the voice louder than the sky, and all the rules and constraints in their eyes were just windows that could be cut off.

There are rumors that some of Rodin’s works were actually done by Camille. The rumors of these good people are really boring. They are the prototypes of each other in love. When they were separated, they did not stop carving each other, looking for them in the soil, stones, and bronze. The reflection of one's soul. As for whether it reflects a white angel or a black Satan, it is like a person drinking water.

Learn the rules, it’s easier to survive this way. There is an anecdote about Rodin. When Rodin was in the statue, government officials came to inspect the statue. The officials thought that the nose of the statue was a bit big and suggested that Rodin modify it. Rodin climbed up the ladder and used it. The cutter pretended to modify the nose, and then quietly sprinkled the plaster powder on his hands.

This story is regarded as a classic that adheres to principles but is sleek. The so-called winners are just people who balance the interests of all parties and distribute them evenly. They are capable people, but they are not strange ones.

It’s ridiculous that people with strange talents are often not accepted in this world, and some thugs and villains use this kind of rhetoric to justify themselves, but those extraordinary geniuses who are not even remembered by later generations happen to be hidden in filth and dust. They ran in their own wilderness covered in dust, and the split-up selves accompanied them through their last lonely years.

Well, the ending of the story is like this: Camille lives alone, poverty-stricken, almost crazy. On March 10, 1913, she was sent to a mental hospital. In 1914, after a year in a mental hospital, Camille was transferred to a shelter near Avignon, where she stayed until her death on October 19, 1943, the last thirty years of her life. She was tied up in a tights that binds a lunatic and lived in obscurity.

The story of rock singers and Guoer continues from ancient times to the present. Those strong and hardworking girls can break new ground as long as they tan themselves, but those who are paranoid and stubborn can only listen to it. Seeing my own inner voice, that voice overwhelmed everything-the advice of my parents, the instruction of the teacher, the warning of my close friends, the sharp whistle of cars on the road, the crisp pigeon whistle in the sky, the sound of water flowing over rocks, lovers say me The whispers of loving you and falling leaves rubbing the ground-throw them all away, until life and talent are exhausted, until death.

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Camille Claudel quotes

  • Morhardt: Who do you think you are?

    Camille Claudel: Don't you know who I am? Or are you pretending?

    Morhardt: What kind of behavior is this? You're crazy!

    Camille Claudel: Camille Claudel. I am Camille Claudel! And if you don't know it, I'll show you!

  • Camille Claudel: My little Paul, you came to see me in May... and I made you promise not to neglect me so terribly. Madhouses are made to inflict suffering. It can't be helped... especially if you never see anyone. They try to force me to sculpt here. They don't succeed, so they make trouble for me. Don't forget, Paul, your sister is in prison with madwomen. Mama wrote the doctor... that I mean to harm you. That I detest you and am out to hurt you. It's not true. I wish she would take me to Villeneuve with her. Do you think I enjoy spending months, years like this without any news or hope? Where does such ferocity come from? How did they manage to change you so? I'd really like to know. You might as well send me to Siberia. Did you take care of my things? Are they in Villeneuve? Be careful they don't fall into Rodin's hands. He's so afraid I might come back. That's why he's keeping me here, isn't it, Paul? I would like to go home and close the door tightly. I don't know if I'll be able to realize this dream to be home. Oh, God, I wish I were in Villeneuve. Your sister in exile.