My own experience is that the more I study art, the less I like nature. What art really inspires us is that nature lacks organization, she is surprisingly rough, she is very monotonous, and she is absolutely unfinished.
Living a more pious, quiet and thoughtful life will distract people; Put all your thoughts and feelings on one thing; All feelings are one-way. All the thoughts and energy of the whole person point to a great goal, so that people will be complete and completely harmonious with themselves.
I hope no one believes that people will suddenly jump into such a warm state of mind with their feet one day. The symbol or metaphor of the latter may be a dance music that has just been sung. Before learning such a dance, people must learn to walk and run completely; Moreover, in my opinion, only a few people are destined to be self-reliant. When people dare to rely on their limbs for the first time, there are no straps and handrails. In their spring, when they are full of youthful strength and various temptations, people have suffered the most serious injuries, often shaking and depressed, like a fugitive, like an exile, with a trembling conscience and strange doubts about their own path: If energetic spiritual freedom is like a bottle of wine,
We know that they are just puppets and know the music played by the phonograph; Know that accumulated silk will fade, spherical tassels will be worn loose, and plush will be infected with scabies; Believe or doubt that children will grow up; After the first hundred years of performance, I will start to perfunctory, yawn in the afternoon, see the paint peeling off Judy's cheeks, and find that the paralyzed guy has done incredible things. The villain deceived himself in his laughter. But, dear Christ, who is it that those delicate and jade hands with jewels so unexpectedly flash from under the wings, holding twig candles, and make all our weak but precious flames rise into magnificent colored flames? Who is she, smiling gently and kindly and saying "good night" in the hoarse cries of older children?
In the brief calm between the two air raids near midnight, watching Elena and Paula fall asleep, I seem to have entered time again. As our God designed, midnight is really the dividing line between two days. But when the bomb fell or exploded, time seemed to stop. As if we were all working and taking refuge in eternal purgatory. Probably just because I live on the island. With another nerve, people may produce a dimension, a vector, which will firmly point to this or that end of the earth and point to the tip of a peninsula. But here, there is nowhere to go except into the sea. It is only possible that arrogant people with thorns and horns are insisting that there will be a place here sooner or later.