These surrealist masters, in front of them, the original pursuit of art is a kind of horror to me.
I've always believed that the fate of artists and thinkers in this world is what bothers me the most. Whenever they think so, they will always choose an incomprehensible path and go through hardships.
I might think Dalí loved Lorgar. Whether it is his retreat, his escape, his dazedness, his indifference, his indifference, his arrogance, and his share of what I think is difficult cruelty towards Lorca.
Perhaps, this proves that artists and geniuses are like this. You, I can't guess. The motivating and sarcastic tone of those words was, I think, unfair to Lorca.
I want to read that poem again. Those about a fresh sentence and the ashes in my heart slipped into my heart shallowly.
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