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类别:文学名著 作者:叶芝 本章:X

    As I read t t time since  me in manuscript, I come to understand  to tion of a astic as tes. ory of t on o t pictures t o oo observation, and all to some overfloy of dramatic construction. I  t quarrels of ts came from ter condiments, but  quarrel all day long amid neigy Ma an artist need but make ers self?consistent, and yet, t too ion, for altole sympat is not in danger. I  it onness of fancy Martin D a feion is unknoimes tage, I find all thers from live ducks and geese.

    is salt in t is rougo t ens tions by contest, all t stings into life tragedy; and in to o misc  t of otaste t is so constant, it is all set out so simply, so naturally, t it suggests a correspondence beting mood of t sual?minded is s, an Indian scripture says, but passionate minds love bitter food. Yet  observer, but is certainly kind and sympatic to all about er, cries at  to see ices t tten  o tick, one kno it is erested affection as befits a simple man and not in ty of study.  ts for t time, ravelled ed taying, o tioned everybody, till ood of a sudden t he island were a woman.

    t a time, as ter Kerry essays do not, but not ten recalls so completely to my senses ts  realize t alked ting pages, s itself as in till er of a pool. t comes to er long seemingly unmeditative c comes, (and er in matters of business) it is spoken  ation and never cion  an experimental trument of researc; self  yet brougion, ional generalization of beauty. A mind t generalizes rapidly, continually prevents t  as a man oo complete in youto any energy of moral beauty. Synge ood by young men, and even as I to me t our modern poetry  try of t range ime.


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