Beauty is quite a mysterious thing.

　　There was a time when it had to be synonymous with perfection; it was an Ideal.

　　We had almost forgotten that the Ideal could also be altered. And had to be.

　　It never was that fixed, rigid unbending thing; it is the constantly changing horizon.

　　幽美，云云神奇难明。

　　曾几何时，它圆满无瑕，是不可及的逸想。

　　使人险些忘记, 这逸想能够，且须要变化。

　　由于美不会阻滞，从不牢固，毫不一致，一直在变换着无垠的边境。

　　And perfection? Ah, nowadays perfection takes a backseat to movement.

　　Beauty: all kinds.

　　We catch a glimpse of these beauties in silhouettes striding forth, blithely unafraid of paradox, of

　　unexpected alliances — on the contrary.

　　圆满?从今往后能够不再那末主要

　　美，是形形色色的美

　　若隐若现的行进表面，临危不惧，毫无逆喻，出人意料的连系，

　　反之，亦然。

　　Kalós as the Greeks used to say.

　　Using that same term, they pretended to confound the beautiful and the good.

　　Physical splendour and moral grandeur.

　　The Greeks always had a good sense of humor — of the clairvoyant kind.

　　“Kalós” 是希腊人说的美。

　　用同一个说话，伪装殽杂了美与好。

　　有形的壮美与无形的高尚。

　　他们睿智而诙谐，极具洞察力。

　　Our metamorphoses have become our new idealism, our only beauty.

　　He watches her dress.

　　Organdy and leather.

　　Light, powerful.

　　When she puts it on, her hand beckons to a new horizon.

　　Whisper sweet nothings in my ear? Let us stroll under a Bubinga pink sky, into dusk.

　　Whisper sweet nothings in my ear? Laisse-moi tranquille.

　　演变对我们而言是新的理想主义，是我们唯一的美。

　　他看着她的衣裙。

　　蝉翼纱及皮革。

　　轻巧，有力。

　　当她穿上身，她的手正在招呼一种新的边境。

　　在耳畔呢喃爱语?不如眺望木粉色的天空同享薄暮。

　　在耳畔呢喃爱语?不这样我单独相处