"Reading Notes on 'The Moon and Sixpence'"

Book Title: "The Moon and Sixpence"
Author: Maugham
Recommendation: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

I don't remember who once said that in order to cultivate one's soul, a person must do two things they don't like every day. The person who said this is truly wise, and I have always adhered to this principle diligently: I wake up every morning and go to sleep every night.
Sometimes, a person accidentally comes to a place and inexplicably feels a sense of belonging. They find the home they have been searching for in their heart. Although they have never seen the scenery here and are unfamiliar with the people, they settle down here as if everything here is familiar to them from birth. In the end, they find peace here.
The greatness I am talking about is not the temporary fame of a politician due to their success in the political arena, nor the renowned reputation of a soldier due to their bravery and skill in battle. The success and fame of such people are not necessarily due to their own greatness, but rather the positions they hold. Once circumstances change, they become insignificant. We often find that a former prime minister was just a persuasive orator, and a retired general is nothing more than a mediocre hero in civilian life.
Considering art as a craft that can only be fully understood by skilled craftsmen is a ridiculous misconception. Art is the expression of emotions, and the language of expressing emotions is understood by everyone.
All the passionate and grandiose speeches that people make, thinking they are original, are actually just the same old tune that has been repeated a hundred times by their predecessors, with no change in tone. It's just the swinging of a pendulum, repeating in a never-ending cycle.
I can't understand why someone who has written a novel has to dress so shabbily. If you have a good figure, why not show it off? Besides, no editor has ever rejected a "masterpiece" because the author wore fashionable shoes on their handsome feet.
In that era, conversation was still considered an art that needed to be cultivated; clever and witty responses were more appreciated than the explosive sound of boiling thorns in a pot; maxims were not tools for fools to pretend to be intelligent, but rather added a touch of humor to the conversations of literati.
These moral quirks, like their peculiar attire and illogical eccentricities, were entertaining to her, but had no influence on her own beliefs and way of life.
"Why do good women always marry boring men?" "Because men with brains don't marry good women."
Sympathy is a pleasant skill, but it is often abused by those who know they possess it. Such sympathizers eagerly display their various tricks and techniques whenever they see their friends encounter misfortune, which can be quite intimidating. Some people allow their sympathy to flow endlessly, leaving the recipient of their sympathy at a loss. How can I bear to add my tears to someone whose clothes are already soaked with tears?
We may appreciate his character, but we are unwilling to associate with him. He is an unnecessary existence. He may be considered a morally upright member of society, a good husband and father, an honest stockbroker, but it is not worth wasting time on him.
Perhaps this is the story of countless couples in life. The life pattern presented in this story gives a sense of simplicity and elegance. It reminds one of a calm river flowing through lush green grass under the shade of trees, eventually merging into the vast ocean. However, the ocean is always so calm and indifferent, that it suddenly makes you feel a sense of unease. Perhaps it is because I have a natural inclination for sudden inspiration (this nature of mine was already very strong in my younger days), I always feel that most people seem to lack something in the way they live their lives.
In them, one can only see this vague and indistinct image, just like all the people we usually see. Each person's life is only a part of the social organism, and everyone can only rely on the support of this organism to survive, just like the cells in the human body, which are indispensable but ignored in a powerful whole.
It is always hateful when a person is morally humiliated and indignant, but lacks the strength to directly teach the evildoer a lesson.
At that time, I did not yet understand how contradictory human nature can be, and I did not know how much acting is involved in sincere expressions.
Poor women, what are they thinking? Love. They only know love. They think that if a man leaves them, it must be because he has found a new love. Do you think I am so stupid that I would do the same things for a woman that I have already done?
Since I was young, I have always wanted to be a painter, but my father insisted that I learn a trade, saying that art cannot make money. I started drawing a little over a year ago. I have been attending night school since last year.
Only poets or saints believe that with diligent watering, lilies can grow on asphalt roads.
I have a good appetite because I am young, and he eats greedily because he doesn't care about eating other people's food.
Only a certain type of woman can be so enthusiastic even after repeating the same thing three times.
I asked myself if there was an inherent desire for creation in his soul, a desire that, although suppressed by his life circumstances, continued to grow stubbornly, like cancer cells growing in human tissue, until it completely controlled him and forced him to submit. Just like a cuckoo laying its eggs in the nests of other birds, once the little cuckoo hatches, it will squeeze out the other chicks and eventually destroy the nest that sheltered them.
The conversion of the soul can take different forms and be achieved through different means.
If being unconventional is only the usual behavior of one's own kind, then it is not difficult to be seen as unconventional in the eyes of the world. This feeling of being unconventional can make you overly proud, allowing you to take pride in your courage and avoid any risks.
Whenever someone tells me that they don't care about what others think of them, I don't believe them at all. It is just a display of ignorant and fearless bravado. What they mean is that they are not afraid of others' criticism because they are convinced that no one will notice their faults.
It's absurd to say that not everyone is willing to do what I do. Most people are satisfied with doing ordinary things.
I believe that conscience is the guardian of a person's soul, protecting the principles that society has gradually formed for its own continuation. Conscience is the police officer stationed in the heart of each of us, supervising us to abide by the rules. Conscience is also the undercover agent lurking in a person's self-awareness fortress.
Conscience compels each person to prioritize the interests of society over personal interests. Conscience is the powerful bond that connects the individual to the whole. Ordinary people often convince themselves that certain interests are more important than their own, willingly submitting to these interests and becoming slaves to their masters. They place their masters on the throne of honor. In the end, just like a court jester praising the emperor's scepter carried on their shoulders, they feel proud of their keen conscience.
For those who do not recognize the power of conscience, they will use harsh words to criticize them, because they are already members of society, and they
I can't say for sure. Are you saying that if he left you for a woman, you could forgive him, but you couldn't forgive him for leaving you for an ideal? Do you think you can handle women, but you are powerless when it comes to ideals?
I have not yet realized how complex human nature can be. Now I understand that baseness and nobility, malice and kindness, hatred and love can coexist in the same person's heart.
Our daily lives are like a tram traveling back and forth along the tracks from the starting point to the destination. We can roughly count how many passengers get on our tram. Life is too well-organized. It makes me feel frightened. I gave up my rented apartment, sold my few belongings, and decided to start a new life.
Some say that suffering can make a person noble, but that is not true. Happiness can sometimes cultivate noble qualities, while suffering often only makes a person narrow-minded and vengeful.
He is emotional, but within his easily moved emotions, there is something absurd and ridiculous that prevents one from feeling grateful for his good intentions.
I imagine that a pickpocket who takes pride in their dexterity would feel annoyed if they encountered a careless woman who forgot her handbag full of valuable jewelry in a taxi.
He is constantly being hurt, but he is naturally kind and unwilling to harm others: even if he is bitten by a snake, he never learns his lesson and, as soon as the wound heals, he tenderly embraces the snake again. His life seems to be written in the format of a farcical tragedy.
A person who has such accurate and unconventional insights when commenting on other people's works, but is inexplicably proud of their own mediocre works, is truly a strange phenomenon.
Beauty is the most precious thing in the world. How can you think that beauty is like a pebble lying on the beach, which can be picked up by any casual passerby? Beauty is a mysterious and extraordinary thing, the essence of which is extracted by artists through the pain and torment of their souls. Once an artist creates beauty, it is not meant for everyone to understand. To truly understand beauty, you must empathize with the artist's tumultuous creative experience. Beauty is like a beautiful melody sung to you by an artist, and you need to use your own heart to feel the beauty. You need knowledge, insight, and imagination.
It is childish. If you don't care about what one person thinks of you, how can you possibly care about the opinions of a group of people?
I don't have time for such boring things. Life is too short to talk about love and art.
I love her far more than I love myself. I feel that if vanity is mixed into love, it can only mean that you only love yourself.
This feeling essentially satisfies a person's desire for a stable life, pride in owning property, satisfaction in being pursued by others, and a sense of accomplishment in building their own family. It is the kind-hearted vanity of women that gives this feeling spiritual value.
Those things that most people have are completely absent in him, and blaming him for not having ordinary human feelings is as absurd as blaming a tiger for being ferocious and cruel.
Love is a special feeling, and an essential element of love is tenderness, which Strickland completely lacks. He is not tender to himself or to others.
Love requires effort and the willingness to sacrifice oneself for another person. Even the most clear-headed person may know this in theory, but in practice, they often fail to realize that love will one day come to an end.
Love can make a man slightly better than his original self, but it can also make him inferior to his original self.
But I also know that each person interprets the concept of love based on their unique quirks, and the understanding of love varies from person to person. Someone like Strickland can naturally fall in love in their own unique way. It would be futile to analyze his feelings.
A woman who loves a man wholeheartedly but is no longer loved by him can be more cruel than anyone else; at that time, she will have no mercy, no tolerance, and only a burning rage.
I think her indifference is somewhat cruel, and perhaps she finds pleasure in tormenting him. I can't understand why she hates him so intensely.
The world is cruel and ruthless. No one knows why we come into this world, and no one knows where we will go. We must live humbly. We must see the beauty in silence. We must quietly live our lives in our own little corner, without attracting the attention of fate. Let us seek the love of simple and ignorant people. Their ignorance is more valuable than our knowledge. Let us remain silent and live peacefully, humble and gentle like them. This is the wisdom of life.
People too casually talk about beauty, and because they cannot feel the power of language, they all indiscriminately misuse the word "beauty," causing it to lose its original power. If things that are truly beautiful share the same name as many trivial things, then the beautiful things are deprived of their dignity. A beautiful piece of clothing, a dog, a sermon—these things are all called beautiful by the world. Therefore, when faced with true beauty, they cannot recognize it.
Before long habits dull one's feelings, a writer always has an unsettling instinctive inclination to take a keen interest in various peculiar human behaviors, becoming obsessed with them to the point where they cannot be restrained by their own moral views.
A writer brings their fictional characters to life, giving life to the part of themselves that cannot be expressed in any other way. They derive satisfaction from it, a feeling of liberation.
Writers are more concerned with understanding than judging.
"A woman can forgive a man for hurting her," he said, "but she can never forgive a man for sacrificing himself for her."
I don't need love. I don't have time for love. It is a weakness of human nature. I am a man, and sometimes I need a woman. Once my desires are satisfied, I have other things to do. I cannot restrain my desires, so I hate them. They imprison my spirit.
Perhaps each of us subconsciously cares about whether others value our opinion of them and judges our influence on others based on that. If we see that we have no such influence on someone, we will dislike that person.
Living in this world, everything is closely related to others. Wanting to live only for oneself, relying only on oneself, is absurd. Sooner or later, you will get sick, you will grow old, and then you will have to crawl back into the crowd. One day, you will truly long for the comfort and sympathy of others. Won't you feel ashamed then? It is impossible to completely disregard what others think. The human nature deep within you will eventually seek the common bond of humanity.
Each of us is an independent individual in this world. Each person is imprisoned in a tower and can only communicate with others through symbols, but these symbols do not have a common value, so their meaning is vague and uncertain.
In general, love is just an episode that occupies a place in a man's daily affairs, and novels exaggerate the importance of love, which does not correspond to real life. Only a few men consider love to be the most important thing in the world, and such men are devoid of interest, even women who always talk about love.
Scoundrels, like artists and gentlemen, perhaps even like nobles, do not belong to any social class. They are not embarrassed by the vulgarity and rudeness of common people, nor are they at a loss in the ceremonial displays of royalty and nobility.
"As I often say," Captain Nichols continued to reminisce, "if you're going to hit someone, hit them hard. Injure them severely so that you have some time to think about what to do next."
It was only after many years, long after his death, that art dealers from Paris and Berlin sent agents to search for the possible remaining works of Strickland on Tahiti Island. They realized that an extraordinary person had once lived on this island with them. They suddenly remembered that if they had spent a little money to buy a few of his paintings back then, they would be worth a fortune today. They regretted missing such a good opportunity to make money, and they couldn't forgive themselves.
Sometimes, a person accidentally comes to a place and inexplicably feels a sense of belonging.
Personality? In my opinion, a person who, after considering for only half an hour, abandons a promising career and decides to pursue a completely different life, requires a strong personality. To take this step resolutely and never regret it requires an even stronger personality.
I wonder if they know that most people can't be the kind of person they want to be, but can only be the kind of person they have to be.
Some people pursue truth with all their heart, and in order to obtain truth, they are willing to destroy everything that sustains their existence in the world. Strickland is such a person, except that he pursues beauty, not truth. How can I not sympathize with someone like him?
There are very few people in the world who can strive for and achieve their ideals.
For a person who is five feet seven inches tall and a person who is six feet two inches tall, the world is completely different.