Your only limit is your soul

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In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little, yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face is that in the grand scheme of things the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. The world is often unkind to new talent, new creations. The new needs friends.

Last night, I experienced something new, an extraordinary meal from a singularly unexpected source. To say that both the meal and its maker have challenged my preconceptions about fine cooking is a gross understatement. They have rocked me to my core. In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau’s famous motto, “Anyone can cook.” But I realize only now do I truly understand what he meant.

Not everyone can become a great artist,but a great artist can come from anywhere. It is difficult to imagine more humble origins than those of the genius now cooking at Gusteau’s, who is, in this critic’s opinion, nothing less than the finest chef in France. I will be returning to Gusteau’s soon, hungry for more.

落花诗册摘选

不是所有人都能成为伟大的艺术家,而伟大的艺术家可能来自任何地方。艺术离不开苦难和孤独,这似乎是无法改变的定律。

刹那断送十分春,富贵园林一洗贫。借问牧童应设酒,试尝梅子又生仁。
若为软舞欺花旦,难保余香笑树神。料得青鞋携手伴,日高都做晏眠人。

杨柳楼头月半规,笙歌院里夜深时。花枝灼灼难长好,漏水丁丁不肯迟。
金串袖笼新藕滑,翠眉奁映小蜼垂。风情多少愁多少,百结愁肠说与谁。

桃花净尽杏花空,开落年年约略同;自是节临三月暮,何须人恨五更风。
扑檐直破帘衣碧,上砌如欺地锦红;拾向砑罗方帕里,鸳鸯一对正当中。

呜呜晓角起春城,巧作东风撼地声。灯照檐花开且落,鸦栖庭树集还惊。
红颜不为琴心驻,绿酒休辞盏面盈。默对镜奁闲自较,鬃丝又是一年赢。

春梦三更雁影边,香泥一尺马蹄前。难将灰酒灌新爱,只有香囊报可怜。
深院料应花似霰,长门深锁日如年。凭谁对却闲桃李,说与悲欢石上缘。

花朵凭风着意吹,春光弃我竟如遗。五更飞梦环巫峡,九畹招魂费楚词。
衰老形骸无昔日,凋零草木有荣时。和诗三十愁千万,肠断春风谁得知。