Bourras, in despair, repeated that art was done for, that he was reduced to carving his handles for the pleasure of doing so, without any hope of selling them.

Bourras 绝望地重复说，艺术已经完蛋了，他不得不雕刻他的手柄来享受这样做的乐趣，没有任何出售它们的希望。

This, perhaps, is the true source of Oppenheimer's ruin; he shattered his reality, and in doing so, he cast himself adrift, unstuck in time, without any hope of reclaiming the blissful certainties he once enjoyed.

这也许是奥本海默破毁灭的真正原因；他粉碎了他的现实，在这样做的过程中，他让自己随波逐流，脱离了时间的束缚，没有任何希望重新获得他曾经享受过的幸福的确定性。