Wilde is like the lines on the palm of his hand, from his childhood "The Happy Prince", "The Nightingale and the Rose" and "The Selfish Giant", he slowly grew into the narcissistic and proud look of Dorian Gray. Everyone who has watched "The Happy Prince" probably still remembers this story: The prince had a kind heart of gold, so he gave everything he had and eventually tortured himself to death. No matter in the distant past or now, no one will advocate such foolish giving without asking for anything in return, but this fairy tale full of warmth, kindness and love is deeply imprinted in my heart, along with the person who wrote it little fool. Others say that what they love is a reflection of themselves, so I fell in love with his poisonous tongue, his gorgeousness, the frivolous smile at the corners of his eyes and the bohemian look on his eyebrows.

I remember joking with my mother two nights ago, how come the people I like are all queer - from Oscar Wilde to Woolf, Verlaine is also my favorite poet, and there are many German writers who like me. Even the American literary world prefers Truman Capote for his delicacy. They really can't appreciate a tough guy like Hemingway - maybe it's a little bit of pride and inferiority in their hearts, or maybe that A little bit of sensitivity and kindness delicately cuts apart the layers of everything in the world, fearlessly showing it to the world.

Wilde, who seemed smart, had never been wary of anyone, let alone him. He thought that love was so big that nothing could be tolerated; he thought that life was an imitation of art, so he really lived his life with twists and turns that only art has; he thought that his "artistic life" would at least end in a comedy, completely I don’t know, because I fell in love with a man, I was imprisoned for two years, endured the indifference and betrayal of my lover, and after being released from prison, I forgave Judas, who betrayed him, and died in trivial matters and quarrels, and died in the rented apartment together. In a small room, he died in 1900 between two centuries. He died at the end of one era, but failed to see the dawn of another era.

I have speculated countless times. In the cold prison, what kind of big heart does the young master who has always put supreme pleasure have to laugh at the warmth and coldness of human relationships in the world, and still laugh heartily and sigh helplessly? My heart is in ice, but my words are on fire. The beginning and end of the letter are long paragraphs about the trivial matters and entanglements between Douglass, happy, sad, excusing or accusing.

Thinking of his famous comedy The Importance of Being Honest, in the eyes of another comedy genius, Bernard Shaw, it was just heartless. If so. Watch Oscar Wilde's plays, be it "Salome" or "No Child's Play". They all put talent far ahead of emotion. At best, they laugh and scold the drama life, but at worst, they say it's all smooth sailing and heartless. , until "From the Deep", he said:

It can be seen that prison gave him the cold shoulder and hardship that society has never given him. After tasting the bitter side of life, he gradually let go of his impulsiveness, sharpness, pretentiousness, and a series of young master behaviors, and began to learn humility, peace, and true happiness:

In the letter , he is sometimes angry, sometimes sad, sometimes extremely confident, sometimes speaking like a mentor. Just like reading his plays, you can read heart-warming famous quotes and aphorisms everywhere, but it is no longer the kind of pretentious and shocking theory. His paradoxical words are even more touching and convincing:

He also said a lot about art: to become an artist, you need to have enough solitude, stay away from worldly things, and add a few more Like-minded friends. It's a pity that he fell in love with the wrong person, which only took over his money and soul, and wasted his talent and time.

But no matter what, love is beautiful, regardless of the judgment of the world, like a fish drinking water, cold or warm. Self-aware.

At the end of "From the Depths", Wilde, who was about to be released from prison, seemed like a swan about to break out of the mire, and sang an ode to hope for the last time in beautiful language:

and How similar is the phrase "Caiwei Mountain, which sends out crags, roars and chants forever, enjoys sex and nourishes life"...

This has indeed become the swan song of his life.

In the final analysis, this is just a long letter to relieve the boredom and anguish in prison, so I acted as the recipient of the letter, read it aloud and kept it in my heart. Let each recipient make his or her own judgment as to what religion, belief, happiness, art, etc. are the words to judge from a high rock.

Across time and space, I have received the love you spoke of, that’s all.