库布里克让我想起这首《掌中美母1-50周依云》Never seek to tell thy love, Love that never told can be; For the gentle wind does move Silently, invisibly. I told my love, I told my love, I told her all my heart; Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears, Ah! she did depart! Soon as she was gone from me, A traveler came by, Silently, invisibly He took her with a sigh.
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If you truly believe art comes from the heart, and you still consider post-modern art to be art, then the heart of the artist is terribly dark.