I also have to admit that I'm sensitive, angina is always there.
There is a natural beauty in life, noble and cheerful and optimistic. Only lived to be 28 years old. This leader's life is thinner than paper, but her influence is higher than the sky.
I began to question whether the Andy Warhol in me was real. People always have weaknesses, but I always dislike these soft but evil sides.
Who is cruel to whom, or who is more cruel than whom.
Crazy for one, burns for one, burns for one, falls for one.
The more you do and the less forgiveness you get, it's not just grief.
He was held up by everyone, but was thrown into hell by one person. I
admit, I can't stand it.
The little hole in my heart started to widen again, and I thought everyone was the same.
Andy is like his paintings, the simple mechanical reproduction seems to be cold and cold, and it seems that no emotion can be seen, and it is purely recreated using objects.
Like Andy to Edie.
However, I always thought I saw something else, I think I saw the fragrance of strong colors overflowing in the mechanical reproduction, the humming of a talented worker at rest.
But, I can't see, I can't see his compassion for Edie.
She gave him everything she had, and he took it for granted. He made her go in the direction he thought, and he thought her happiness lay in him.
He praised her, used her, hollowed her out, and abandoned her.
She came close to him, followed him, loved him, hated him.
It is the same kind of resentment that brings them together, it is the Oedipus complex that sparks the spark, and it is selfishness that destroys the weak.
Whoever is weak, whoever fails.
I think I will continue to love him, this think rich, look poor evil.
I think I will continue to love her, this look rich, turly poor daisy.
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