如果我和你談?wù)撍囆g(shù)，想必你已經(jīng)記住所有藝術(shù)書上的摘要并來和我談航攒，比如米開朗基羅的藝術(shù)成就磺陡、政治取向等等趴梢。但是你無法告訴我站在西斯廷大教堂下面，真實(shí)地體味那種震撼的感覺吧币他？如果我們談到戰(zhàn)爭(zhēng)坞靶，你可能會(huì)引用莎士比亞。但是你不知道什么是戰(zhàn)爭(zhēng)蝴悉，感受當(dāng)你在戰(zhàn)場(chǎng)上抱著你即將死去的最好的朋友彰阴，看著他咽下最后一口氣的剎那，眼中向你流露出的渴望生命的眼神拍冠。

如果我們談到愛尿这，你可以會(huì)給我背十四行詩。但你不會(huì)知道庆杜，當(dāng)你看著你心愛的伴侶非常脆弱的時(shí)候射众，感受是什么。你本以為上帝在你手中放了一個(gè)安琪兒晃财，這種愛可以超越一切叨橱，超越癌癥！你不知道為了照顧身患癌癥的妻子，在醫(yī)院里兩個(gè)月寸步不離是什么感覺罗洗。你不會(huì)知道什么是真正的“失去”愉舔，因?yàn)檫@只有在你愛一件東西勝過愛你自己的時(shí)候，你才能體會(huì)到伙菜。你從來不敢愛任何人轩缤，對(duì)嗎？

看著你贩绕，我并沒有看到一個(gè)聰明的典奉、自信的男人；我只看到了一個(gè)狂妄的丧叽、內(nèi)心恐懼的卫玖、懶惰的男孩。威爾踊淳，你很天才假瞬，沒人能否定這一切，甚至沒有人會(huì)了解你迂尝。但是你卻因?yàn)榭吹揭环嬐衍裕蛯?duì)我的生活妄加評(píng)判。

你是個(gè)孤兒垄开，對(duì)吧琴许？難道我會(huì)因?yàn)樽x過《霧都孤兒》這本書，就會(huì)知道你的生活有多艱辛溉躲？你的感受是什么榜田？你是誰？這可能嗎锻梳？我不可能像你去讀我寫過的書來了解我箭券；除非你愿意敞開你自己，愿意和我交流疑枯，不然我無法知道“你是誰”辩块。你不愿意說，是不是荆永？你或許已經(jīng)被自己可能表露　

SEAN： So, if I asked you about art, you'd probably give me the skinny of Every art book ever written. Michelangelo. You know a lot about him: life's work, political aspirations, him and the Pope, sexual orientation, the whole works, right? But I bet you can't tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You've never actually stood there and looked up at the beautiful ceiling, seen that.

SEAN ：If I ask you about women, you'll probably give me a syllabus of your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can't tell me what if feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. You're a tough kid.

　　And I ask you about war, you'd probably, uh, throw Shakespeare at me, right?"once more unto the breach, dear friends..." But you've never bee near one. You've never held your best friend's head in your lap, and watched him gasp his last breath, lookin' to your for help.

　　I ask you about love, you'll probably quote me s sonnet. But you've never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable, known someone that could level you with her eyes, feelin' like God put and angel on earth just for you,who could rescue you from the depths of hell, and you wouldn't know what it's like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anyghin, through cancer. And you wouldn't know about sleeping sittin' up in a hospital room for two months, holding her hand, because the doctors could see in your eyes that the terms "visiting hours" don't apply to you. You don't know about real loss, 'cause that only occurs when you love something more than you love yourself.

　　I doubt you've ever dared to love anybody that much. I look at you. I don't see an intelligent, confident man. I see a cocky, scared-shitless kid. But you're a genius, Will. No one denies that. No one could possible understand the depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me, because you saw a painting of mine. You ripped my fuckin' life apart. You're an orphan, right? Do you think I know the first thing about how hard your life has been? How you feel? Who you are? Because I read Oliver TWist?Does that encapsulate you? Personally, I don't give a shit about all that. Because you know what? I can't learn anything from you I can't read in some fuckin' book. Unless, you wanna talk about you, who you are. Then I'm fasciated. I'm in. But you don't want to do that, do you, sport? You're terrified of what you might say.