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Sebastian Horsley + Harper's Bazaar Interview, October.


1. At first, to speak of one thing, the fact that you are 'dandy' quite interests me.
Please tell me what it means to you by the dandy way of life.


Being a dandy is a condition rather than a profession. It is a defence
against suffering and a celebration of life. It is not fashion; it is not wealth; it is not learning; it is not beauty. It is a shield and a sword and a crown - all pulled out of the dressing up box in the attic of the imagination. Of course life is nothing but a game of dressing up and make-believe. All dress is fancy dress except our natural skins. I know I am a pretend artist and a pretend writer. But I play with all my
heart. Play transforms us, magically. Dandyism is a lie which reveals the truth and the truth is that we are what we pretend to be.

And yet, dandyism is social, human and intellectual. It is not a suit of clothes walking about by itself. Clothes are merely a part - they may even be the least important part of the personality of the dandy.
Dandyism isn¡¯t image encrusted with flourishes. It¡¯s a way of stripping yourself down to your true self. You can only judge the style by the content and you can only reach the content through the style.




2. I think dandy is superior to artists in some sense. What would you say about this?


Yes I agree. As a dandy I seek to be somebody rather than to do something. What I am matters more than what I produce. Why produce anything save my own carefully cultivated self? My greatest work is my personality. My life - and my death - are my art.

But art itself is worthless. It is material, earthly, impermanent. No matter how great, it still pales besides the transcending majesty of nature - or the simple beauty of my face. In his highest aspirations man is still mocked.
No wonder that art and psychosis have been such tender lovers for so long; that the road to creativity passes so close to the madhouse and, indeed, often ends there.

You see, art is no more than a commodity - an object much like a washing machines - only rather less useful. The outstanding artists in this century - Mr Dali, Mr Warhol, Mr Bacon, Mr Hockney. What made all these men great was that their personalities touched the world¡¯s imagination even more intimately than their work. Pictures are only things, but artists are people. People buy their work so that, in a tenuous way, they may spend time with the painter - may share a fragment of that shamelessly exotic life.



3. Nevertheless there are many people who can't differentiate between a dandy and style icons such as Kate Moss. Speaking of which,
I would like to know what you think of Kate Moss. Would you mind?


I don't give a toss for Miss Moss. I'm not remotely interested in her or her world.
Art produces ugly things which frequently become beautiful with time. Fashion, on the other hand, produces beautiful things which always become ugly in time. To me her looks and her greed are both ugly.

I hate fashion. Fashion is what you adopt when you don¡¯t know who you are. A substitute for taste. Fashion can be bought. Style cannot. Style one must possess.

I refused a request from Moss's agency to have her model in my studio.

"Would you consider having Kate Moss photographed in your studio?"asked a visiting lackey from Moss's agency.

"No, I would not," I replied. "This is my inner sanctum. My holy shrine to myself. Here I close my windows, latch my shutters and build magical realms into the night. It is completely private."

Then the lackey offered me "a couple of hundred pounds... but you'd have Kate Moss in your studio for a day".

"I don't want fucking Kate Moss in my studio, thank you very much," I exploded. "Does Kate Moss want Sebastian Horsley in her lavatory? Tell her this pretty boy will do it for £10,000 and I'll throw in a 'good morning' for that price. I won't, however, get out of bed."




4. In fact, one should learn how to get elegantly dressed from a dandy.
Please tell us about your outdoor clothes. Especially the gorgeous suit hung on your wall.
It's said that you make your own pair of socks as well as your own suits.
Is that true? How do you make your own clothes?


I design everything and I have everything made. My suits, my shirts, my socks, my shoes, my ties, my scarves, my coats, my gloves, my hats.
When I walk in to a room I want people to say:¡±There is Sebastian Horsley.¡± I don¡¯t want them saying ¡°There¡¯s Ozwald Fucking Botang¡° - nothing personal against Ozwald Fucking Botang you understand. You see, I never shop. I never wear brands apart from my own.

You see, I am not wearing clothes. I am wearing my thoughts and my attitudes to life. Clothes reflect them in a very obvious way. They are accretions of personality.

To be a dandy is to aspire to the sublime. The doctrine of dandyism is spiritual doctrine. It is a fearless journey to the interior; a delving
into the depths of ourselves in order to see what it is that makes us extraordinary. Adornment is never anything except a reflection of the soul. My clothes are simply a document; a leaflet thrust into the hands of astonished bystanders; evidence that what I have seen is interesting.



5. I know that you appeared at Comme des Garçons stage recently...
I'd like to know why you did so and what you think of Comme des Garçons.


They had asked me to do it seven years ago and I refused."I can't be a Clothes horse for you. I can only be a Clothes Horsley for me.¡± I said.

This time when they called they had a different idea. ¡°We don¡¯t just want to invite you onto the runway. We want to design a collection based on you. It has never happened before.
Sure we have had people like John Malkovich wear our clothes but we have never used someone to inspire a season.¡±

Well, what can I say? Flattery has got to be pretty thick before I object to it.And so I went off to take Paris by calm. I made my entrance on the Catwalk modelling for Comme des Garcon¡¯s. My new years resolution had been to become more superficial. To stop being a man and become a mannequin. It was going quite well. Deep below the glitter, it was all solid tinsel.

I knew that the projection of style could be effected by three principal means - speech, movement and appearance. I was denied one so determined to push the others. I had a clear plan.

With ¡°Dandy In The Underworld¡± on my whistling lips and a fold of Rachel's silk underpants trapped between my well-powdered buttocks, I waltzed onto the catwalk caked in make up, and knew deep in my artificial heart as I approached the blazing arc lights and the wall of Paparazzi flashes at the end of the runway that life simply didn¡¯t get any better. Let me tell you it was a spiritual moment. Jesus was wrong. It is better to go to Hell well tailored than to Heaven in rags.

I executed my three point pan. Seduction. Playfulness. Defiance. I blew a kiss. I winked. Then I flicked the V¡¯s. I was done. I have to say posing was the first job I had ever had in which I understood what I was doing. On stage I am natural, simple, affecting. It is only when I am off that I am acting.



6. I know that you attended St. Martin's School of Art.
Why did you drop out? Why did you enter it if you were going to quit in the first place?
What were your expectations and disappointments?


The chance to study anything without paying fees, even if it is something that can never be the slightest use, cannot be allowed to pass by.

From day one the whole thing was a problem. It was ironic that the Sex Pistols had played their first concert at St Martin¡¯s college of Art in November 1975. As far as I was concerned they had shown that great art comes from the complete refusal of all authority. True artistic success arises from refusing to do what promoters want, by refusing to perform what the public wants ... in fact, by refusing to do anything to order. And now here I was at the college in which the authorities had taken it upon themselves to pull the plug on them three numbers in.

My problem was that, although all my heroes were completely self taught, I knew that going solo was difficult enough - even for the working class rebel. For the person with no talent it would be positively hazardous. I went to college. I had to compensate instead by becoming a complete twat. I was one of those middle-class malcontents who blame the professional classes for all my own shortcomings. Nothing worth knowing could be taught, I fumed.
Students had a herd mentality - they had to have or they wouldn¡¯t be in college in the first place. Art school kids were spoilt brats who had too much of everything. It was official : St Martins was the enemy.
It was a place where pebbles were polished and diamonds were dimmed. I - the great nobody - would not be dimmed. I was an electric eel in a goldfish pond.

My expectations were fame. My disappointments were lack of it. As you can see, I was young and stupid. Now I am old and stupid. If you are sure you understand anything that is going on in life, you are hopelessly confused



7. A few years ago, you were crucified.
I don't think you did such a thing just to become famous as an artist.
I believe you wanted to go somewhere unbeaten.Tell me about that 'somewhere' that you wanted to reach.


The whole image of the crucifixion for me was about death and rebirth.
I had got to a place in my life that in order to save Sebastian it had become necessary to destroy him. That must be the aim of all true subversion : In the end you must be prepared to subvert yourself. A man sometimes shows in his self-destruction that he is worthy of self-creation.

I also wanted to attempt to change the nature of reality. To break the limits of life and test the boundaries of reality. Life is at the start a chaos in which one is lost. Frightened of finding ourselves face to face with this terrible reality we try to cover it over with a curtain of fantasy.
These fantasies become an armour that hold the person prisoner. Getting crucified would be an attempt to push my personality off the rails. To loosen the rivets and tackle that bound my identity.
To hack off the ball and chain of the self.

If I erased or made a fool of myself in the process then so be it. The real test of an art form and a human being is whether it will stand laughter and test itself to destruction. We can only know love by what is beyond love. We can only know pain by what is beyond pain. For me, it was important to experiment with things that took me into dark places in my heart. All my life, I had been sublimely cursed by discontent, and to me happiness came only when I pushed my brain and heart to the farthest reaches of which I was capable.

I am a romantic nihilist. I want to transcend reality. A true dandy will never abandon his mind to the grossness of reality.




8. People say you have come to be known as 'Jesus Christ Superstar' in the art world. Is that true?


No. I am not known in the art world or if I am I am certainly not taken seriously by them. I think my greatest achievement as an artist is convincing the world I have no talent.

But you see, I want to go totally outside the art world. My idea is to create my own, total alternative to what is going on in the art world.I don¡¯t want to be taken seriously by the art world. I want to be taken seriously by the world. There¡¯s is a difference.

I hate art. Art is making something out of nothing and selling it. The key to the art world is the skill of selling things before they become worthless.

What, you may ask, have I got against painting? What have you got against the wall? Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.What have I got against sculpture? What have you got against the sofa?
Let¡¯s face it, there is no furniture quite so dull as art. Worse still, producing art is essentially conservative. Being creative is having something to sell, or knowing how to sell something, or having sold something.
Art in a capitalist society is only available in commodity form.

Because of this I never go to galleries. Art Galleries to me are the cemeteries of the arts. Where art goes when it is dead. A public urinal is more interesting to me than a public gallery. And the comments of prostitutes as valuable as the comments of artists.



9. As I came to know you and your works, I began to feel unbearable resentment towards the guys who exhibited his own excrement, put chopped corpses in the water tank, and hanged a child-looking mock model on a tree. Your performance seems to be some sort of expression of the despair of modern art. Is it?


At the time of writing I am 45, old enough to know that I can count on no one but myself for a solution, but unfortunately not old enough to abandon hope altogether. Hope is the worst of evils, for it prolongs all of our torment. I am appalled that I am 45. I hold myself personally responsible. I don¡¯t feel 45. In fact, because of heroin, I don¡¯t feel anything at all. But like Monsieur Cocteau, every day in the mirror,
I see death at work. And I am afraid. Afraid to watch over my own decay, afraid of losing my looks, my loves, my life. Afraid that everything I love I shall lose.

This is the tragedy of life. We get washed up on a certain shore, spend our lives building sand castles, enclosing our wilderness within a wall of words, lured from the first to the last by phantoms. The tide turns, comes crashing in and washes our pathetic lives away. At the end we find ourselves in a desert weeping alone in an empty church, surviving only to be aware of all that we have lost. Remember me, whispers the dust. It is an emptiness beyond emptiness.

This is how I feel. It has nothing ton do with art. Life divides between mad laughter and sobbing tears. Terrifying passion and eternal despair. That is it. You could say I am at a crossroad. One path leads to despair and utter hopelessness. The other, to total extinction. But one has to despair of life in order to grasp its real value.

You see it is a far, far better thing to have a firm anchor in despair than to put out on the troubled seas of hope.

Besides, misery, when you get used to it, is just as agreeable as happiness. I have turned my anger, darkness and despair into a kind of celebration.



10. Despite that, and there are so many freaks in the art world, but nobody has ever tried showing their own death like you did. When and how did you come up with such a thing?


My masochism was an experiment. Real life was never enough for me. It is too slow and unrevealing. But the whole point of masochism is not really about pain, it¡¯s about surrendering. By being crucified I had done that - surrendered. I lay on a cross and someone who I¡¯d never met before banged nails into me. The masochist doesn¡¯t want pain, he wants to be able to identify its source, localize it, and so control it.
You take suffering and pain - the symbols of death -and turn them into pleasure and the experience of more life. At this level sacrifice affirms reality, bows to it, and attempts to conciliate it. Shedding blood is a way of affirming power over life, and therefore over death.
Of course, what I had done was symbolic, because I didn't die, but the principle and motivation was the same - one buys oneself free from the penalty of dying, of being killed. It was as though I had said to God "If this is what you want, here, take it! - but leave me alone.¡± If I was bloodthirsty it was to ward off the flow of my own blood.



11. What is the actual way of your suicide?
Would that involve a pistol shot? Shakespeare said, "Although coward dies many times before death,
a brave man dies only once." That leads us to the shot at the temple, doesn't it?


I¡¯d read recently of a gentleman in Newton, North Carolina, who shot himself dead when he was awoken by the telephone ringing on his bedside table. Reaching for the phone, he grabbed by mistake a Smith & Wesson .38 which discharged when he drew it to his ear.

As all self- respecting dandies know, suicides are the aristocrats of death. The divine act is a final, stylish grace note to a life devoted to high style. That said, as far as I am concerned, Mr North Carolina came a close second; in fact, I declare, a photo finish. I often think of shooting myself out of curiosity; to die so senselessly, to leave a senseless world, insensibly; an act like this prepared within the silence of the heart is a great work of art. Unprepared, it is a masterpiece.

You see, living is fine. But the way you die often defines you for ever. How a man dies shows his true character as much as how he lives.



12. People wouldn't believe unless they see you die with their bare eyes. They wouldn't be able to get away from the suspicion that Horsley would be living just the way they thought that Elvis Presley. So let me ask you, don't you think there needs to be witnesses like Dennis Morris and Tracey Emin ?


Well, it is true, Kings should disdain to die, and only disappear.

But I don't know. Suicide has always been the thing I keep in the back of my mind, like a precious stone, a special cure, as the only cure for a pain that would not go away. I can continue to function efficiently and even happily provided I know I have my own, specially chosen means of escape always ready : a hidden syringe under my bed and a loaded gun beside it.

I don¡¯t think suicide is so terrible. Some rainy winter Sunday when there¡¯s a little boredom, you should always carry a loaded gun. Not to shoot yourself, but to know exactly that you¡¯re always making a choice.

The thought of suicide is a great consolation: by means of it one gets successfully through many a bad night. Guns are the best method of suicide. Drugs are too chancy - you might miscalculate the dosage and just have a good time.

I have always know that I was a suicide. Not if but when. But its a little bit worrying. I may have a problem. I seem to be losing my will to die. I do keep on trying to go on being miserable; but somehow a cheerfulness keeps spoiling it. I have even become indecisive about committing suicide. Maybe I shall hang myself with a bungee rope?



13. The 'venue' is also important. In my opinion, it should take place in Soho and especially your studio which is like your own sanctuary..If so, please tell us what Soho and this sanctuary mean to you.


I love Soho. In a beautiful area I would be superfluous. In an ugly one I am a narcotic.

I am a God in the body of a man living happily in the Soho zoo.

And what a zoo it is. If you cram rats into a small room they will attack, sexually assault and even cannibalise each other.
Yet even rats know where their tails are - the humans here do not. Men impersonating women, women impersonating men, human beings impersonating human beings. Millions of people being lonely together.

It was life at ground zero - a kind of jubilant wasteland which showed us the state of our decay. This is what I loved about it. It was the naked jaws of hunger; the naked jaws of need. Soho, to me, was nothing but a stomach and a penis.

I have never loved a place more. Living here is like coming all the time. Following the yellow sick road, I pass by the brothels as though passing the houses of my beloved. This is my home. I walk, sleek with significance, beautifying the streets, smiling and tipping my boater to all and sundry. I am kind to Soho. I have slept with most of it. The hookers in turn show me respect. They know my stimulation of their private sector kept Soho going. Put the tart before the Horsley......Without me the vice business would be on its knees. I do a lap of dishonour and
returned home.

Soho shows us society in the process of committing suicide. It is a cesspit working under an agreed general theory of human unhappiness. It is this that makes me inhumanly happy.

And my studio is my inner sanctum. I have no need to go beyond my studio. The great adventure is work- to see something unknown appear is worth all the trips around the world.



14. I at least believe that anyone may choose death by their free will. However, once dead we would no longer be able to reject others' criticisms, and prove their judgements to be wrong by your acts. Are you not scared of these?


No.Committing suicide is the most superb literary criticism.



15. Is it only death that would suit the dandy way which forever seeks to be sublime?
Or are you dying for the sake of art? What does art mean to you?


As all self-respecting dandies know, suicides are the aristocrats of death. They represent a triumph of style over life. My existence is a work of art. It deserves a frame - if only to distinguish it from the wallpaper. Suicide will look nice. It will match the home furnishings.



16. Charles-Pierre Baudelaire defined art as prostitution.
What is the relationship between your visits to brothels and your art?
For instance, the reason for which you needed 1000 prostitutes.


Indeed, the condition of an artist is much like that of a prostitute; both exposing ourselves and our reputations to feed our greedy appetites. Careering and whoring and pamphleteering and selling something sacred which should be free. Both are scandalous professions. What is art?
Prostitution. What is prostitution? Art. Prostitution is a successful attempt to flog sex at bargain basement prices; - you ejaculate without the sticky mess of emotional or financial entanglements. Art is a successful attempt to purvey wallpaper for more than its worth. Voila tout.

I just like whores. They are my muses. I love prostitution. I relish the sheer idea of it. Is it the fact that with prostitution a host of ideas are seen to meet at that site. Its the whole idea of prostitution which thrills me : So complex a point of intersection - lust, bitterness, nullity of human relations, muscular frenzy and the ringing of gold. Looking to the bottom of it makes one dizzy.

In a dandy, whores soon cease to be what they are for most bores - a substitute for regular women. It is regular women that are a substitute - and a poor one - for prostitutes.



17. Men get aroused simply because prostitutes are there spreading there legs for them.
Can you differentiate your cock with so may others?


I have a magnificent cock. By nature all men are equal in liberty, but not in other endowments. ¡°Put your hand bitch round my penis. Don¡¯t you know it¡¯s a stroke of genius."

The Great Wall of China is the only human erection which is visible from the moon. Apart from mine.



18.As far as I am aware, after dissipation one always feel even more deserted. What about your own case?


To finish is both a relief and a release from an extraordinarily
pleasant prison. It is more fearful than the prison of the convict or the desert of the hyena. But that is life. You see, life is just a dance party for cripples and spastics. We are miserable, deformed animals whose bodies decay, who will die, who will pass into dust and oblivion, disappear forever not only in this world but in all the possible dimensions of the universe, whose paralysed lives serve no conceivable purpose, who may as well not have been born. And this, of course, is the best fate for man - not to be born, to be as nothing. The second best is to die early. Fancy a fuck?



19. You paid a huge amount of money to over 1000 prostitutes.
What did the three Rachels that you say you loved think of your impulsive spending of money?


Rachel is the finest woman to ever walk the streets. She understands.
She knows that whores are for men, and marriage, like life-boats, are for women and children.

They like prostitutes for the same reason I do. The reason I rate prostitutes is because they obviously rate themselves. They obviously rate themselves because they charge for their services. Normal girls give themselves to you for nothing and then wonder why you piss all over them. I ask you!

The worst things in life are free. If they are free they are rightly abused or simply not taken into account. Value seems to need a price tag.People will pay thousands for a Faberge egg and then tread on a beetle. Quite right. The Faberge egg is simply more beautiful and valuable.How can we respect a woman or a cockroach who doesn¡¯t value herself?
Talk about low self worth. No respect insect - you had it coming. Next time charge cockroach.

I like spending money in excess - capital erosion is another way to waste my substance, to become as thin and hollow as I feel and send and spend myself away. I like to commit symbolic suicide while I still dither about the real one.



20. The three Rachels- what things did they have in common other than their names?
I am also curious about what they think of your suicide plan.


Their shared interests are : Yves St Laurent smudge proof mascara, oxygen and mutual adoration of me.

They worship me. They think I am a God. They know that if I kill myself I will not be committing suicide, I will be committing deicide.




21. I cannot believe you quit heroin and cocaine.
Why on earth would a hedonist who wants to kill himself want to quit those things?


I had to quit them. They were making me too happy. I am not a hedonist.
The hedonist is pathetic. The amateur nihilist. Nihilism is the belief in nothing and the wish to become nothing : Oblivion is its ruling
passion. Nihilism is a more radical experience, a more manly confrontation of potential meaninglessness.



22. Can you show us at least part of your will (or the name of your epitaph)?


¡°Here lies Sebastian, Oh so brave. Stop here traveller and shit on his grave.¡±

Or :

¡°Here lies Sebastian, gone to the abyss. Stop here traveller and have a piss.¡±


The beautiful need no tombstone; my knob is my monument.



23. The last question. What would you like people to remember about you?
(Since only when we close the top of your coffin would we evaluate on your real quality..)


How would I like to be remembered? In somebody's will.




Thank you very much for your sincere answers to my questions.
Whether it's a suicide or a martyrdom, I would like to wish you a 'happy journey' on your long, long road.



Kyung Kim
Harper's Bazaar Korea + Photograph by hyperjh, Hwanik Choi





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±×·¯³ª ¿¹¼ú ±× ÀÚü´Â °¡Ä¡°¡ ¾ø´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. ±×°ÍÀº ¹°ÁúÀûÀÌ°í, Áö»óÀûÀ̸ç, ºñ¿µ±¸ÀûÀÌ´Ù. ¾ó¸¶³ª À§´ëÇÑ°¡¿¡ »ó°ü¾øÀÌ, ±×°ÍÀº ¿©ÀüÈ÷ ÀÚ¿¬ÀÇ ÃÊ¿ùÀûÀÎ ´Ù¼ö-¶Ç´Â ³» ¾ó±¼ÀÇ ´Ü¼øÇÑ ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿ò- ¿·À¸·Î â¹éÇØÁ® °¥ »ÓÀÌ´Ù. ½º½º·ÎÀÇ °­ÇÑ ¿å±¸ ¼Ó¿¡ ¸ðµÎ´Â ¿©ÀüÈ÷ ±â¸¸´çÇÏ°í ÀÖ´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. ¿¹¼ú°ú Á¤½Åº´ÀÌ ±×Åä·Ï ¿À·§µ¿¾È ±×·¸°Ôµµ °¡±î¿î »çÀ̸¦ À¯ÁöÇØ ¿Ô´Ù´Â °ÍÀº ³î¶øÁö°¡ ¾Ê´Ù. âÀÛÀ¸·Î °¡´Â ±æÀº Á¤½Åº´¿øÀ» ¹Ù·Î ½ºÃÄÁö³ª°¡°í, ¹°·Ð Á¾Á¾ ±×³É Á¤½Åº´¿ø¿¡¼­ ¿©Á¤À» ¸¶Ä¡±âµµ ÇÑ´Ù.

¸»ÇÏÀÚ¸é, ¿¹¼úÀº ÀÏ¿ëÇ°°ú ´Ù¸¦ °Ô ¾ø´Ù- ±×Àú ¼¼Å¹±â¿Í °°Àº °ÍÀÏ »ÓÀÌ´Ù- ´Ù¸¸ ¿¹¼úÀº ¼¼Å¹±â¿¡ ºñÇØ À¯¿ë¼ºÀÌ ¶³¾îÁú »ÓÀÌ´Ù. ÃÖ±Ù ¹é³â°£ÀÇ ÈǸ¢ÇÑ ¿¹¼ú°¡µé- ´Þ¸®, ¿öȦ, º£ÀÌÄÁ, ȣũ´Ï. À̵éÀ» À§´ëÇÏ°Ô ¸¸µç °ÍÀº ¹Ù·Î ±×µéÀÇ °³¼ºÀÌ ¼¼°èÀÇ »ó»ó·ÂÀ» ±×µéÀÇ ÀÛÇ°º¸´Ù ´õ ¸¹ÀÌ ÀÚ±ØÇß´Ù´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. ±×¸²Àº ´ÜÁö »ç¹°¿¡ Áö³ªÁö ¾ÊÁö¸¸, ¿¹¼ú°¡µéÀº »ç¶÷µéÀÌ´Ù. »ç¶÷µéÀÌ ±×µéÀÇ ÀÛÇ°À» »ç´Â ÀÌÀ¯´Â, ¹Ì¾àÇÏ°Ô³ª¸¶, ±×µéÀÌ ±× ÆäÀÎÅÍ(ȯÀïÀÌ)¿Í ÇÔ²² ½Ã°£À» º¸³½´Ù´Â- ±×ÀÇ »·»·ÇÑ À̱¹½º·¯¿î »îÀÇ ÇÔ Á¶°¢À» °øÀ¯ÇÒ Áöµµ ¸ð¸¥´Ù´Â »ý°¢¿¡¼­ÀÌ´Ù.



3. ±×·³¿¡µµ ºÒ±¸ÇÏ°í º¸Åë »ç¶÷µéÀº ´íµð¿Í ÄÉÀÌÆ® ¸ð½º °°Àº ½ºÅ¸ÀÏ ¾ÆÀÌÄÜÀ» ±¸ºÐÇÏÁö ¸øÇÑ´Ù.
±× ¶§¹®¿¡ ³­ ´ç½Å¿¡°Ô ÄÉÀÌÆ® ¸ð½º¸¦ ¾î¶»°Ô »ý°¢ÇÏ´ÂÁö ¹°À¸·Á°í ÇÑ´Ù. ´ë´äÇØ ÁÙ ¼ö ÀÖ³ª?

³ª´Â Kate Moss¿¡ ´ëÇØ ÀüÇô ½Å°æ µûÀ§ ¾²Áö ¾Ê´Â´Ù. ³ª´Â Á¶±Ýµµ ±×³à³ª ±×³àÀÇ ¼¼°è¿¡ Èï¹Ì¸¦ ´À³¢Áö ¸øÇÑ´Ù. ¿¹¼úÀº óÀ½¿¡´Â ÈäÇÒÁö ¸ô¶óµµ ½Ã°£ÀÌ Áö³ª¸é ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿ö Áö´Â °ÍÀ» ¸¸µé¾î³½´Ù. ´Ù¸¥ ÇÑÆí, ÆмÇÀº óÀ½¿¡´Â ¾Æ¸§´äÁö¸¸ Â÷Â÷ ÈäÇØÁö´Â °ÍÀ» ¸¸µé¾î³½´Ù. ³ª¿¡°Ô´Â ±×³àÀÇ ¿Ü¸ð¿Í ±×³àÀÇ ¿å½ÉÀº µÑ ´Ù ÈäÇÏ´Ù.

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"Kate Moss°¡ ±ÍÇÏÀÇ ½ºÆ©µð¿À¿¡¼­ »çÁø ÃÔ¿µÀ» ÇÏ´Â °ÍÀ» ¾î¶»°Ô »ý°¢ÇϽôÂÁö¿ä?¡±
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±×¸®°í´Â ±× ´ë¸®ÀÎÀº ¡°À̹é ÆÄ¿îµå ¾î¶°¼¼¿ä...ÇÏÁö¸¸ ´ç½ÅÀº Kate Moss¸¦ ÇÏ·çÁ¾ÀÏ ´ç½ÅÀÇ ½ºÆ©µð¿À¿¡ µ¥¸®°í °è½Ç °Å¿¡¿ä.¡± ¶ó°í Á¦¾ÈÇß´Ù.
"°í¸¿Áö¸¸, ³ª´Â Kate MossµûÀ§´Â ³» ½ºÆ©µð¿À¿¡ Á¶³½ ÇÊ¿ä°¡ ¾ø¾î¿ä.¡± ¶ó°í ³ª´Â µ§Àå Æø¹ßÇß´Ù. ¡°Kate Moss´Â ±×³àÀÇ È­Àå½Ç¿¡ ¼¼¹Ù½ºÃ® È£½½¸®¸¦ ¿øÇϳª¿ä? ±×³à¿¡°Ô ÀÌ ±Í¿©¿î ¼Ò³âÀÌ ¸¸ÆÄ¿îµå¿¡ ÇØÁÖ°Ú´Ù°í ÀüÇϼ¼¿ä. ÇÏÁö¸¸, ħ´ë¿¡¼­ ³ª¿ÀÁø ¾ÊÀ» °Ì´Ï´Ù.¡±



4. »ç½Ç ¿ì¾ÆÇÏ°Ô ¿Ê ÀÔ´Â ¹ýÀº ´íµð¿¡°Ô ¹è¿ö¾ß ÇÑ´Ù.
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´íµð°¡ µÈ´Ù´Â °ÍÀº °í»óÇÔÀ» Ãß±¸ÇÑ´Ù´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. ´íµðÁÖÀÇ´Â Á¤½ÅÀûÀÎ °ÍÀÌ´Ù. ±×°ÍÀº ³»¸éÀ» ÇàÇÑ µÎ·Á¿ò ¾ø´Â ¿©ÇàÀÌ´Ù. ¿ì¸®¸¦ ºñ¹üÇÏ°Ô ¸¸µå´Â °ÍÀÌ ¹«¾ùÀÎÁö¸¦ º¸±â À§ÇØ ¿ì¸®ÀÚ½ÅÀÇ ±íÀÌ·Î ÆÄ°íµå´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. Àå½ÄÀº ¿µÈ¥¿¡ ´ëÇÑ »ç»ö ¿Ü¿¡´Â °áÄÚ ¾Æ¹«°Íµµ ¾Æ´Ï´Ù. ³ªÀÇ ¿ÊµéÀº ´Ü¼øÈ÷ ±â·ÏµéÀÌ´Ù. ÇϳªÀÇ ¾È³»Ã¥ÀÚ°¡ ³î¶õ ÁÖº¯ ÇàÀÎÀÇ ¼Õ¾ÈÀ¸·Î ¹Ð¾î³Ö¾îÁø´Ù; °ð ³»°¡ º» °ÍÀÌ Èï¹Ì·Ó´Ù´Â Áõ°ÅÀÌ´Ù.



5. ¾ó¸¶ Àü ÄÞµ¥°¡¸£¼Û Ä÷º¼Ç ¹«´ë¿¡ ¼¹´Âµ¥...
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±×µéÀº 7³âÀü¿¡ ±×°ÍÀ» ÇØ´Þ¶ó°í ¿äûÇØ¿Ô°í ³ª´Â À̸¦ °ÅºÎÇß¾ú´Ù. "³ª´Â ´ç½ÅÀ» À§ÇÑ Clothes horse°¡ µÉ ¼ö ¾ø¾î¿ä. ³ª´Â ¿ÀÁ÷ ³ª ÀÚ½ÅÀ» À§ÇÑ Clothes Hoseley¸¸ µÉ ¼ö ÀÖÁÒ." ¶ó°í ³ª´Â ¸»Çß´Ù.

À̹ø¿¡´Â ±×µéÀÌ ³ª¿¡°Ô ÀüÈ­ÇßÀ» ¶§ ±×µéÀº ´Ù¸¥ ¾ÆÀ̵ð¾î¸¦ °¡Áö°í ÀÖ¾ú´Ù. "¿ì¸®´Â ´Ü¼øÈ÷ ¹«´ëÀ§·Î ´ç½ÅÀ» ÃÊ´ëÇÏ·Á´Â°Ô ¾Æ´Ï¿¡¿ä. ¿ì¸®´Â ´ç½Å¿¡ ±â¹ÝÇÑ ÄÝ·º¼ÇÀ» µðÀÚÀÎ ÇÏ·Á´Â °ÍÀÔ´Ï´Ù. ¿¹Àü¿¡´Â Çѹøµµ ¾ø¾ú´ø ÀÏÀÌÁÒ. ¹°·Ð ¿ì¸®´Â John Malkovich°°Àº »ç¶÷µéÀÌ ¿ì¸®ÀÇ ¿ÊÀ» ÀÔ°Ô ÇÑÀûÀº ÀÖ¾úÁö¸¸, ´©±¸¸¦ ÇÑ °èÀý ÄÝ·º¼ÇÀÇ ÁÖÁ¦·Î »ï´Â °ÍÀº óÀ½ÀÔ´Ï´Ù.¡±

±Û½ê, ¹¹¶ó°í ÇÒ±î? ¾Æ÷Àº ³»°¡ °ÅºÎÇÏ·Á¸é »ó´çÈ÷ ¸ÛûÇÑ °ÍÀ̾î¾ß ÇÑ´Ù. ±×¸®ÇÏ¿© ³ª´Â Æĸ®¸¦ ÇâÇØ ¶°³µ´Ù. ³ª´Â Comme des GarconÀÇ Ä¹¿öÅ© ¸ðµ¨¸µ¿¡ Âü¿©Çß´Ù. ³ªÀÇ »õÇØ °á½ÉÀº ´õ õ¹ÚÇØ Áö´Â °ÍÀ̾ú´Ù. »ç¶÷ÀÎ °ÍÀ» ¸ØÃß°í ¸¶³×Å·ÀÌ µÇ´Â °ÍÀ̾ú´Ù. ±×°ÍÀº ²Ï °èȹ´ë·Î Àß µÇ¾î°¡°í ÀÖ¾ú´Ù.±× È­·ÁÇÑ ¹Ý¦ÀÓ ¼Ó¿¡¼­, ±×°ÍÀº ¿ÏÀüÈ÷ °ß°íÇÑ Çã½ÄÀ̾ú´Ù.

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"Dandy In The Underworld¡±¸¦ ÈÖÆĶ÷À¸·Î ºÎ¸£¸ç, ±×¸®°í RachelÀÇ ÆÒƼ¸¦ Á¢¾î ³ªÀÇ ÆÄ¿ì´õ°¡ Àß ¸ÔÈù ¾ûµ¢ÀÌ »çÀÌ¿¡ ³¢°í´Â, ³ª´Â È­ÀåÀ¸·Î ¹ü¹÷ÀÌ µÇ¾î Ĺ¿öÅ©¿¡¼­ ÃãÀ» Ãß¾ú°í, ºÒŸ´Â Á¶¸í°ú ÆÄÆĶóÄ¡ÀÇ »çÁø Ç÷¡½¬ÀÇ º®À» ¹«´ë ³¡¿¡¼­ Á¢ÇÏ¸ç ³ªÀÇ ÀΰøÀûÀÎ ¸¶À½ ±íÀº °÷¿¡¼­ »îÀÌ ´Ü¼øÈ÷ ´õ ³ª¾ÆÁöÁö ¾Ê¾Ò´Ù´Â °ÍÀ» ±ú´Ý°Ô µÇ¾ú´Ù. ±×°ÍÀº ¿µÀûÀÎ ¼ø°£À̾ú´Ù. ¿¹¼ö´Â Ʋ·È´Ù. ¸»²ûÇÏ°Ô Áö¿ÁÀ¸·Î °¡´Â °ÍÀÌ ´©´õ±â ÀÔ°í õ±¹°¡´Â °Íº¸´Ù ÈξÀ ³·Áö ¾Ê³ª ¸»ÀÌ´Ù.

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6. St Martin's School of ArtÀ» ´Ù´Ñ °É·Î ¾È´Ù. ¿Ö ±×¸¸µÎ¾ú³ª? ±×¸¸µÑ °Å¶ó¸é ¾ÖÃÊ¿£ °Å±â¿¡ ¿Ö µé¾î°¬³ª?
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7. ¸î ³â Àü ´ç½ÅÀº ½ÊÀÚ°¡ ¸ø ¹ÚÇô ÀÖ¾ú´Ù.
³ª´Â ´ç½ÅÀÌ ¾ÆƼ½ºÆ®·Î¼­ Á» ´õ À¯¸íÇØÁö±â À§ÇØ ±×·¸°Ô ²ûÂïÇÑ ÀÏÀ» ¹ú¿´´Ù°í »ý°¢ÇÏÁö ¾Ê´Â´Ù.
´©±¸µµ °¨È÷ °¡º¸Áö ¸øÇÑ °÷¿¡ À̸£°í ½Í¾úÀ» °Å¶ó°í ¹Ï°í ÀÖ´Ù. ´ç½ÅÀÌ ´Ù´Ù¸£°í ½Í¾ú´ø ¡®±× °÷¡¯¿¡ ´ëÇؼ­ ¾ê±âÇØ ´Þ¶ó.

½ÊÀÚ°¡ óÇü¿¡ ´ëÇÑ ³»°¡ °®´Â À̹ÌÁö´Â ¿ÏÀüÈ÷ Á×À½°ú ºÎÈ°¿¡ °üÇÑ °ÍÀ̾ú´Ù. ³ª´Â ¼¼¹Ù½ºÃ®À» ±¸Çϱâ À§Çؼ­´Â ±×¸¦ Æı«Çؾ߸¸ ÇÏ´Â ¾î¶² ÀλýÀÇ Á¤Á¡¿¡ µµ´ÞÇß´ø °ÍÀ̾ú´Ù. ÀÌ°ÍÀº ¸ðµç ÁøÁ¤ÇÑ Æı«ÀÇ ¸ñÀûÀÓÀÌ Æ²¸²¾ø´Ù. : °á±¹ ³Ê´Â ½º½º·Î¸¦ Æı«ÇÒ Áغñ°¡ µÇ¾îÀÖ¾î¾ß ÇÑ´Ù. ¾È°ÇÀº ¶§¶§·Î ÀÚ±â Æı«¸¦ ÅëÇØ ÀÚ½ÅÀÌ ÀÚ±â âÁ¶ÀÇ °¡Ä¡°¡ ÀÖ´Ù´Â °ÍÀ» º¸¿©ÁØ´Ù.

³ª´Â ¶ÇÇÑ Çö½ÇÀÇ ¼ºÁúÀ» ¹Ù²Ù·Á´Â ½Ãµµ¸¦ Çغ¸¾Ò´Ù. »îÀÇ ÇѰ踦 ºÎ¼ö°í Çö½ÇÀÇ °æ°è¸¦ ½ÃÇèÇØ º¸´Â °ÍÀÌ ±×°ÍÀ̾ú´Ù. »îÀº ½ÃÀÛºÎÅÍ ±æÀ» ÀҴ ȥ¶õ»óÅÂÀÌ´Ù. Çö½ÇÀ» ¸¶ÁÖÇÏ°í ¿ì¸® ÀÚ½ÅÀ» ã´Â °Í¿¡ °ÌÀ» ¸ÔÀº ü·Î ¿ì¸®´Â ȯ»óÀÇ Ä¿Æ°À¸·Î Çö½ÇÀ» µ¤À¸·Á°í ³ë·ÂÇÑ´Ù. ÀÌ·¯ÇÑ È¯»óµéÀº ±× »ç¶÷À» ÁöÄÑÁÖ´Â °©¿ÊÀÌÀÚ µ¿½Ã¿¡ ±×¸¦ °¡µÎ´Â °¨¿ÁÀ̱⵵ ÇÏ´Ù. ½ÊÀÚ°¡ óÇüÀ» ¹Þ´Â °ÍÀº ³ªÀÇ ÀھƸ¦ ö·Î ¹ÛÀ¸·Î ¹Ð¾î³»´Â °ÍÀ̾ú´Ù. ´ë¸øÀ» ´À½¼ÇÏ°Ô ÇÏ°í ³ªÀÇ ÀھƸ¦ ¹­¾îµÎ´Â °ÍÀ» °ø°ÝÇÏ´Â °ÍÀ̾ú´Ù. ÀÚ¾ÆÀÇ Á·¼â¸¦ ±îºÎ¼ö´Â °ÍÀ̾ú´Ù.

¸¸¾à ³»°¡ ±× °úÁ¤¿¡¼­ ³» ÀھƸ¦ ¾ø¾Ö°Å³ª ±×Àú ¹Ùº¸ÁþÀ» ÇѰŶó¸é-±×·¯¶óÁö. ÇϳªÀÇ ¿¹¼ú ÇüÅÂ¿Í Àΰ£¿¡ ´ëÇÑ ÁøÁ¤ÇÑ ½ÃÇèÀº °ú¿¬ ±×°ÍÀÌ ºñ¿ôÀ½À» Âü°í ½º½º·Î¸¦ Æĸê·Î ½ÃÇèÇÒ ¼ö Àִ°¡ÀÌ´Ù. ¿ì¸®´Â ¿ÀÁ÷ »ç¶û ÀúÆí¿¡ ¹«¾ùÀÌ ÀÖ´ÂÁö¸¦ ¾Ë¾Æ¾ß¸¸ »ç¶ûÀÌ ¹«¾ùÀÎÁö¸¦ ¾Ë¼öÀÖ´Ù. ¿ÀÁ÷ °íÅëÀÇ ÀúÆí¿¡ ¹«¾ùÀÌ ÀÖ´ÂÁö¸¦ ¾Ë¾Æ¾ß¸¸ °íÅëÀ» ¾Ë¼ö ÀÖ´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. ³ª¿¡°Ô ÀÖ¾î, ³ªÀÇ ¸¶À½ÀÇ ¾îµÎ¿î °÷À¸·Î ³ª¸¦ µ¥·Á°¡´Â °ÍµéÀ» ½ÃÇèÇÏ´Â °ÍÀº Áß¿äÇÑ ÀÏÀ̾ú´Ù. Æò»ý ³»³», ³ª´Â ºÒ¸¸¿¡ ÀÇÇØ °í»óÇÑ ¹æ½ÄÀ¸·Î ÀúÁÖ¸¦ ¹Þ¾Æ¿Ô°í, ³ª¿¡°Ô ÇູÀ̶õ ¿ÀÁ÷ ³»°¡ ³ªÀÇ ³ú¿Í ½ÉÀåÀ» °¡´ÉÇÑ °¡Àå ¸Ó³ª¸Õ ÇÑ°è±îÁö ³»¸ô¾ÒÀ» ¶§¿¡¸¸ °¡´ÉÇÑ °ÍÀ̾ú´Ù.

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8. »ç¶÷µéÀº ±× ÀÏ·Î ´ç½ÅÀÌ ¹Ì¼ú°è¿¡¼­ ¡®Jesus Christ Superstar¡¯·Î µî±ØÇÏ°Ô µÆ´Ù°í ÇÏ´øµ¥, »ç½ÇÀΰ¡?

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±×·¯³ª, ±×·¯´Ï±î, ³ª´Â ¿¹¼ú°è ¹ÛÀ¸·Î ¿ÏÀüÈ÷ ³ª°¡°í ½ÍÀº °ÍÀÌ´Ù. ³ªÀÇ ¾ÆÀ̵ð¾î´Â ¿¹¼ú°è¿¡¼­ ÀϾ´Â °Í¿¡ ´ëÇÑ ³ª ÀڽŸ¸ÀÇ, ¿ÏÀüÇÑ ´ë¾ÈÀ» âÁ¶ÇÏ´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù. ³ª´Â ¿¹¼ú°è¿¡¼­ ½É°¢ÇÏ°Ô ¿©°ÜÁö±æ ¿øÇÏÁö ¾Ê´Â´Ù. ³ª´Â ¼¼°è¿¡ ÀÇÇØ ½É°¢ÇÏ°Ô ¹Þ¾Æµé¿©Áö±æ ¿øÇÑ´Ù. ºÐ¸í ±× »çÀÌ¿¡´Â Â÷ÀÌÁ¡ÀÌ ÀÖÀ» °ÍÀÌ´Ù.

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9. ´ç½ÅÀ» ¾Ë°Ô µÇ¸é¼­ Àڱ⠶ËÀ» Àü½ÃÇß´ø ³ð, µ¿Ã¼µéÀÇ Àý´ÜµÈ ½Ãü¸¦ ¼öÁ¶ ¾È¿¡ ³Ö¾îµÐ ³ð,
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10. ±×·³¿¡µµ ºÒ±¸ÇÏ°í »ç½Ç ¹Ì¼ú°è¿¡´Â ¿Â°® Á¾·ùÀÇ ÀÌ»óÇÑ Àΰ£µéÀÌ ¸¹Áö¸¸ ´ç½Åó·³ ÀÚ±â Á×À½±îÁö Àü½ÃÇÏ·Á´Â ÀÚ´Â ÀÏÂïÀÌ ¾ø¾ú´Ù.
¾ðÁ¦ºÎÅÍ ¾î¶² °è±â·Î ±×·± »ý°¢À» ÇÏ°Ô µÆ³ª?

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11. ±¸Ã¼ÀûÀÎ ÀÚ»ì ¹æ¹ýÀº? ¿ª½Ã ±ÇÃÑÀ» ÀÌ¿ëÇÒ »ý°¢Àΰ¡?
¼ÎÀͽºÇǾî´Â ¡°°ÌÀåÀÌ´Â Á×À½¿¡ ¾Õ¼­¼­ ¿©·¯ Â÷·Ê Á×Áö¸¸ ¿ë±â ÀÖ´Â ÀÚ´Â Çѹø¹Û¿¡ Á×Áö ¾Ê´Â´Ù.¡±°í ¸»Çߴµ¥ ±×·¸´Ù¸é ¿ª½Ã °üÀÚ³îÀÌ¿¡ ´ë°í ±ÇÃÑÀ» ¹ß»çÇÏ´Â ¹æ¹ý¹Û¿¡
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¾ó¸¶ Àü ³ë½º ij·Ñ¶óÀ̳ª( North Carolina ) ÁÖ ´ºÆ°( Newton )¿¡¼­ ÀÚ½ÅÀ» ÃÑÀ¸·Î ½÷ »ç¸ÁÇÑ ¾î´À ³²ÀÚ¿¡ ´ëÇÑ ±ÛÀ» ÀÐÀº ÀûÀÌ ÀÖ´Ù. ±×´Â ÀÚ´ø Áß ÀüÈ­º§ ¼Ò¸®¿¡ ÀáÀÌ ±ú¸é¼­ ÀÏÀ» ÀúÁú·¶´Âµ¥, ÀüÈ­±â¸¦ Áý´Â´Ù´Â °ÍÀÌ ÀåÀüµÈ ½º¹Ì½º & ¿þ½¼(Smith & Wesson) .38±¸°æ ±ÇÃÑÀ» Áý¾ú°í, ±Í¿¡ °®´Ù´ë´Â µ¿½Ã¿¡ ÃÑÀÌ ÀÚµ¿À¸·Î ¹ß»çµÇ¾î¹ö·È´Ù°í ÇÑ´Ù.

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»ç½Ç »ç´Â °Íµµ ³ª»ÚÁö ¾Ê´Ù. ÇÏÁö¸¸ ´ç½ÅÀÌ Á×´Â ¹æ½ÄÀº ¿µ¿øÈ÷ ´ç½ÅÀ̶ó´Â »ç¶÷À» Á¤ÀÇÇÒ °ÍÀÌ´Ù. ÇÑ Àΰ£ÀÌ ¾î¶»°Ô Á×´À³Ä´Â ±×°¡ ¾î¶»°Ô »ç´À³Ä¸¦ º¸¿©ÁÙ »Ó¸¸ ¾Æ´Ï¶ó ±×ÀÇ ÁøÁ¤ÇÑ º»ÁúÀ» º¸¿©ÁØ´Ù.



12. ´ç½ÅÀÌ Á׾´Â ¸ð½ÀÀ» ´«À¸·Î Á÷Á¢ º¸Áö ¾Ê´Â ÇÑ »ç¶÷µéÀº ´ç½ÅÀÇ Á×À½À» ¹ÏÁö ¾ÊÀ» °ÍÀÌ´Ù.
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¡°¿ÕÀº Á×À½À» ¹«½ÃÇØ¾ß ÇÑ´Ù. ´ÜÁö »ç¶óÁ®¾ß ÇÒ »ÓÀÌ´Ù.¡±¶ó´Â ¸»Àº ¸Â´Â ¸»ÀÌ´Ù(¿µ±¹ÀÇ ½ÃÀÎ Å丶½º Ç÷§¸Ç(Thomas Flatman)ÀÌ Âû½º 2¼¼ÀÇ Á×À½À» µÎ°í ÇÑ ¸»).

ÇÏÁö¸¸ Àß ¸ð¸£°Ú´Ù. ÀÚ»ìÀº Ç×»ó ³» ¸Ó¸´¼ÓÀÇ ÇÑ ±¸¼®À» Â÷ÁöÇÏ°í ÀÖ´Ù. ¼ÒÁßÇÑ º¸¼®Ã³·³, Ưº°ÇÑ Ä¡À¯Ã³·³, ²öÁú±â°Ô Áö¼ÓµÇ´Â °íÅëÀ¸·ÎºÎÅÍ ±¸ÇØÁÙ ¼ö ÀÖ´Â À¯ÀÏÇÑ Ä¡À¯·Î ¸»ÀÌ´Ù. Ưº°È÷ ¸¶·ÃµÈ Å»Ãâµµ±¸°¡ ¾ðÁ¦³ª ÁغñµÇ¾î ÀÖ´Ù´Â °Í¸¸ ¾Ë¸é ³ªµµ ´É·üÀûÀÎ »î, ½ÉÁö¾î ÇູÇÑ »îµµ »ì ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù. ħ´ë ¹Ø¿¡ ¼û°ÜÁø ÁÖ»ç±â¿Í ħ´ë ¿·¿¡ ÀåÀüµÈ ä·Î ³õ¿©Áø ±ÇÃÑÀÌ ¹Ù·Î ±×°ÍÀÌ´Ù.

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Àڻ쿡 ´ëÇÑ »ç»öÀº ÈǸ¢ÇÑ À§¾ÈÀÌ µÈ´Ù. Àΰ£Àº Àڻ쿡 ´ëÇÑ »ç»öÀ» ÅëÇØ ºÒÇàÇÑ ¹ãµéÀÇ ¿¬¼ÓÀ» ±Øº¹ÇÒ ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù. ±ÇÃÑÀ̾߸»·Î °¡Àå ÈǸ¢ÇÑ Àڻ쵵±¸´Ù. ¾àÀº °á°ú¸¦ ÆÇ°¡¸§Çϱ⠾î·Æ±â ¶§¹®ÀÌ´Ù. ÃæºÐÇÑ ¾çÀ» ¾²Áö ¾ÊÀ¸¸é ±×³É ±âºÐ¸¸ ÁÁ´Ù°¡ ½ÇÆзΠµ¹¾Æ°¥ ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù.

³­ ³»°¡ ÀÚ»ìÇÒ Àΰ£À̶ó´Â °ÍÀ» Ç×»ó ¾Ë°í ÀÖ¾ú´Ù. Á¤¸» Áß¿äÇÑ ¹®Á¦´Â ³»°¡ ÀÚ»ìÀ» ÇÒ °ÍÀ̳İ¡ ¾Æ´Ï¶ó ¾ðÁ¦ ÇÒ °ÍÀ̳ĴÙ. ÇÏÁö¸¸ ÃÖ±Ù¿¡´Â Á¶±Ý °ÆÁ¤ÀÌ µÈ´Ù. ¹®Á¦°¡ »ý±ä °Í °°´Ù. Á×À½¿¡ ´ëÇÑ ÀÇÁö¸¦ ÀÒ¾î¹ö¸®´Â °Í °°±â ¶§¹®ÀÌ´Ù. ºÒÇàÇÑ »îÀ» À¯ÁöÇÏ°íÀÚ ³ë·ÂÇÏÁö¸¸ °¡²û¾¿ ±â»ÝÀÌ À̸¦ ¸ÁÃijõ´Â´Ù. ÀÚ»ì ÀÚü¿¡ ´ëÇؼ­Á¶Â÷ ¿ìÀ¯ºÎ´ÜÇØÁø °Í °°´Ù. Â÷¶ó¸® ¹øÁöÁ¡ÇÁ¿ë ·ÎÇÁ¿¡ ¸ñÀ» ¸Å´Þ¾Æ¾ß ÇÒ±î?



13.±×¸®°í ¡®Àå¼Ò¡¯µµ Áß¿äÇÏ´Ù. ³» »ý°¢ÀÌÁö¸¸ ¹Ýµå½Ã ¼ÒÈ£¿©¾ß ÇÒ °ÍÀÌ°í ´ç½Å¸¸ÀÇ ¼ºÀüÀ̶ó°í ÇÒ ¼ö ÀÖ´Â ±× ½ºÆ©µð¿À¿¡¼­ ¡®ÀÏ¡¯À» Ä¡·ç¾î¾ß ÇÒ °Í °°Àºµ¥...
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¾ó¸¶³ª ¸ÚÁø µ¿¹°¿øÀΰ¡. ÀÛÀº °ø°£¿¡ ÁãµéÀ» ¸ô¾Æ³ÖÀ¸¸é ¼­·Î¸¦ °ø°ÝÇÏ°í ¼ºÆøÇàÇϰųª, ¼­·Î¸¦ ¸Ô¾î¹ö¸®±â±îÁö ÇÑ´Ù. ÇÏÁö¸¸ ±×·¯ÇÑ ÁãµéÁ¶Â÷ ÀÚ½ÅÀÇ ²¿¸®°¡ ¾îµð ÀÖ´ÂÁö¸¦ ¾È´Ù. ÀÌ°÷ÀÇ Àΰ£µéÀ» ±×·¸Áö ¸øÇÏ´Ù. ³²ÀÚµéÀº ¿©ÀÚµéÀ» Èä³»³»°í, ¿©ÀÚµéÀ» ³²ÀÚµéÀ» Èä³»³»¸ç, Àΰ£µéÀº Àΰ£ Èä³»¸¦ ³½´Ù. ¼ö¹é ¸¸ ¸íÀÇ »ç¶÷µéÀÌ ÇÔ²² ¸ð¿© ¿Ü·Î¿öÇÏ´Â °ÍÀÌ´Ù.

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¼ÒÈ£´Â ÀÚ»ì ÁßÀÎ »çȸÀÇ ¸ð½ÀÀ» ¿ì¸®¿¡°Ô º¸¿©ÁØ´Ù. Àΰ£ÀÇ ºÒÇà¿¡ ´ëÇÑ ÀϹÝÀûÀÎ À̷п¡ µû¶ó »ý¼ºµÈ ½Ã±ÃâÀÌ´Ù. ÀÌ·¯ÇÑ Á¡Àº ³ª¸¦ ºñÀΰ£ÀûÀ¸·Î ÇູÇÏ°Ô ¸¸µç´Ù.

³ªÀÇ ½ºÆ©µð¿À´Â °ð ³ªÀÇ ¼º¿ªÀÌ´Ù. ÀÌ ½ºÆ©µð¿À ÀÌ»óÀ¸·Î °¥ Çʿ伺À» ´À³¢Áö ¸øÇÑ´Ù. ³ª¿¡°Ô ÀÏÀº ¸ðÇèÀÌ´Ù. ¾Ë·ÁÁöÁö ¾ÊÀº °ÍÀÌ ³ªÅ¸³ª´Â °úÁ¤À» ÁöÄѺ¸´Â °ÍÀº ¼¼°è¸¦ ´©ºñ´Â °Í¸¸Å­À̳ª °±Áø °æÇèÀÌ´Ù.



15. Àû¾îµµ ³ª ÀÚ½ÅÀº ÀÚÀ¯ ÀÇÁö¿¡ µû¶ó ´©±¸µç Á×À½À» ¼±ÅÃÇÒ ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù°í ¹Ï´Â´Ù.
±×·¯³ª Á×À¸¸é ¿ì¸®´Â ´õ ÀÌ»ó ŸÀÎÀÇ Æò°¡¸¦ °ÅºÎÇÒ ¼ö ¾ø°í, ±×µéÀÇ ÆÇ´ÜÀÌ ¿À·ù¿´À½À» ³ªÀÇ ÇàÀ§·Î Áõ¸íÇÒ ¼öµµ ¾ø´Ù.
±×·± Á¡¿¡¼­ µÎ·ÆÁö´Â ¾Ê³ª?

¾Æ´Ï´Ù. ÀÚ»ìÀ̾߸»·Î °¡Àå ¸ÚÁø ¹®ÇÐ ºñÆòÀÌ´Ù.



16. ³¡¾øÀÌ ¼þ°íÇØÁö±â¸¦ ¿­¸ÁÇÏ´Â ¸¶Áö¸· ´íµðÀÇ ±æÀº ¿ª½Ã Á×À½¹Û¿¡ ¾ø´Â °Ç°¡? ¾Æ´Ï¸é ¿¹¼úÀ» À§ÇØ Á×´Â °ÍÀΰ¡?
±×·¸´Ù¸é ´ç½Å¿¡°Ô ¿¹¼úÀ̶õ ¹«¾ùÀΰ¡?

³»·Î¶ó ÇÏ´Â ´íµðµéÀº ´Ù ¾Ëµí, ÀÚ»ìÀº °¡Àå ±ÍÁ·ÀûÀÎ Á×À½ÀÌ´Ù(À§¿Í ¸¶Âù°¡Áö). ÀÚ»ìÀº ½ºÅ¸ÀÏÀÌ »îÀ» ´©¸£°í ½Â¸®ÇßÀ½À» ¶æÇϱ⠶§¹®ÀÌ´Ù. ³ªÀÇ Á¸Àç´Â ¿¹¼úÇ°ÀÌ°í, ±×·¯ÇÑ ¿¹¼úÇ°Àº ¾×ÀÚ°¡ ÇÊ¿äÇÏ´Ù. Àû¾îµµ ÀÌ ¿¹¼úÇ°À» º®Áö·ÎºÎÅÍ ºÐ°£Çϱâ À§Çؼ­¶óµµ ¸»ÀÌ´Ù. ÀÚ»ìÀº ¿¹»µ º¸ÀÏ °ÍÀÌ´Ù. °¡±¸¿¡µµ Àß ¾î¿ï¸± °ÍÀÌ°í.



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