随便写写

Marie&Eleanor's mirrored lives collide with the ending an elegy: The same cycles repeat themselves as a merry go round. Clarity&greatness is only a glimpse of shimmering after all, scope of the ordinary will override at last. Practical methods being made into stories, then legends, until they are devoured by 'holiness', gnawed empty. Unhappy the people have no saint? No, unhappy the people need a saint. Time slowly flows, tides come&go, only one eternal truth exits: ur life 'has never been urs to do with what u will'. 浮光掠影的中间几十年有点《雷曼兄弟三部曲》的感觉。 作者的文字有种时而粘稠沉重时而轻盈蓬松的质感，Marie对女王的爱就像古老鲶鱼在年轻时被第一个钩子深深刺入肉中这个比喻太震撼了。 也许我愿称之为另一种意义上的修女也疯狂（不是