47 Quotes Tagged: film
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Out of the closets and into the museums, libraries, architectural monuments, concert halls, bookstores, recording studios and film studios of the world. Everything belongs to the inspired and dedicated thief…. Words, colors, light, sounds, stone, wood, bronze belong to the living artist. They belong to anyone who can use them. Loot the Louvre! A bas l’originalité, the sterile and assertive ego that imprisons us as it creates. Vive le vol-pure, shameless, total. We are not responsible. Steal anything in sight.
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Minus: Papa, I'm scared. When I was hugging Karin in the boat, reality burst open. Do you understand?
David: I do.
Minus: Reality burst open, and I tumbled out. It's like a dream. Anything can happen. Anything.
David: I know.
Minus: I can't live in this new world.
David: Yes, you can. But you must have something to hold on to.
Minus: What would that be? A god? Give me proof of God. You can't.
David: Yes, I can. But you have to listen carefully.
Minus: Yes, I need to listen.
David: I can only give you a hint of my own hope. It is to know that love exists as something real in the human world.
Minus: A special kind of love, I suppose?
David: All kinds, Minus. The highest and the lowest, the most absurd and the most sublime. All kinds of love.
Minus: And the longing for love?
David: Longing and denial. Trust and distrust.
Minus: Then love is the proof?
David: I don't know if love is proof of God's existence, or if love is God himself.
Minus: To you, love and God are the same thing.
David: That thought helps me in my emptiness and despair.
Minus: Tell me more, Papa.
David: Suddenly the emptiness turns into abundance, and despair into life. It's like a reprieve, Minus, from a death sentence.
Minus: Papa... If it is as you say, then Karin is surrounded by God, since we love her.
David: Yes.
Minus: Can that help her?
David: I believe so.
Minus: ... Papa, would you mind if I go for a run?
David: Off you go. I'll make dinner. See you in an hour.
Minus: ... Papa spoke to me.
Up until then, whenever anyone had mentioned the possibility of making a film adaptation, my answer had always been, ‘No, I’m not interested.’ I believe that each reader creates his own film inside his head, gives faces to the characters, constructs every scene, hears the voices, smells the smells. And that is why, whenever a reader goes to see a film based on a novel that he likes, he leaves feeling disappointed, saying: ‘the book is so much better than the film.
Borges is particularly stimulating to a man who works in the cinema, because the unusual thing about his writing is that it is like a dream, extraordinarily farsighted in calling up from the unconscious complete images in which the thing itself, and its meaning, coexist - exactly as happens in a film. And, just as happens in dreams, in Borges the incongruous, the absurd, the contradictory, the arcane and the repetitive, although as powerfully imaginative as ever, are at the same time illumined like the careful details of something larger, something unknown, and are the faultless elements of a cruelly perfect, indifferent mosaic. Even the fact that Borges's work is strangely fragmentary makes me think of a broken dreamlike flow; and the heterogeneous quality of his work - stories, essays, poems - I prefer to see not as the union of the multiple threads in a greedy, impatient talent, but as a mysterious sign of unending change.