瑞士就是西方国土的“桃花源”啊。
夏天的飞鸟,飞到我窗前唱歌,又飞去了。秋天的黄叶,他们没有什麽可唱的,只是叹息一声,飞落在那里。
艺术无关美,而关乎真实,即使它丑陋。
That neither our thoughts, nor passions, nor ideas formed by the imagination, exist without the mind, is what every body will allow.