Wednesday, September 29, 2010
"Do you want me to tell you something really subversive? Love is everything it's cracked up to be. That's why people are so cynical about it. It really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for. And the trouble is, if you don't risk anything, you risk even more."
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Monday, September 27, 2010
"The fact that you got a little happier today doesn't change the fact that you also became a little sadder. Everyday you become a little more of both, which means that right now, at this exact moment, you're the happiest and saddest you've ever been in your whole life." –Krauss
One thought alone preoccupies the submerged mind of Empire: how not to end, how not to die, how to prolong its era. By day it pursues its enemies. It is cunning and ruthless, it sends its bloodhounds everywhere. By night it feeds on images of disaster: the sack of cities, the rape of populations, pyramids of bones, acres of desolation.
Waiting for the Barbarians
I have been thinking of my grandmother today. Her eyes were brown and flecked with green. They held everything. Only certain people could see the green. I am realizing now that’s what I said I saw in your eyes that day when you asked me if I was just making it up so you would feel special.
I wasn’t, by the way.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
"I have learned not to think little of any one's belief, no matter how strange it may be. I have tried to keep an open mind, and it is not the ordinary things of life that could close it, but the strange things, the extraordinary things, the things that make one doubt if they be mad or sane."
— Bram Stoker
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
He died in a tree from which he wouldn't come down. "Come down!" they cried to him. "Come down! Come down!" Silence filled the night, and the night filled the silence, while they waited for Kafka to speak. "I can't," he finally said, with a note of wistfulness. "Why?" they cried. Stars spilled across the black sky. "Because then you'll stop asking for me." The people whispered and nodded among themselves. They put their arms around each other, and touched their children's hair. They took off their hats and raised them to the small, sickly man with the ears of a strange animal, sitting in his black velvet suit in the dark tree. Then they turned and started for home under the canopy of leaves. Children were carried on their fathers' shoulders, sleepy from having been taken to see who wrote his books on pieces of bark he tore off the tree from which he refused to come down. In his delicate, beautiful, illegible handwriting. And they admired those books, and they admired his will and stamina. After all: who doesn't wish to make a spectacle of his loneliness? One by one families broke off with a good night and a squeeze of the hands, suddenly grateful for the company of neighbors. Doors closed to warm houses. Candles were lit in windows. Far off, in his perch in the trees , Kafka listened to it all: the rustle of the clothes being dropped to the floor, or lips fluttering along naked shoulders, beds creaking along the weight of tenderness. It all caught in the delicate pointed shells of his ears and rolled like pinballs through the great hall of his mind.
That night a freezing wind blew in. When the children wake up, they went to the window and found the world encased in ice. One child, the smallest, shrieked out in delight and her cry tore through the silence and exploded the ice of a giant oak tree. The world shone.
They found him frozen on the ground like a bird. It's said that when they put their ears to the shell of his ears, they could hear themselves."
"Even now, all possible feelings do not yet exist, there are still those that lie beyond our capacity and our imagination. From time to time, when a piece of music no one has ever written or a painting no one has ever painted, or something else impossible to predict, fathom or yet describe takes place, a new feeling enters the world. And then, for the millionth time in the history of feeling, the heart surges and absorbs the impact."
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
During her half-century in Hollywood, costume designer Edith Head worked on more than a thousand films. Here are some of her best—each as timeless as Head’s creations. For more on her legendary career and photographs of her stylish ensembles—not to mention her own Coldwater Canyon hacienda—see the October issue of Veranda. And don’t miss the photo-filled book Edith Head: The Fifty-Year Career of Hollywood’s Greatest Costume Designer by Jay Jorgensen, new from Running Press.
Double Indemnity (1944): The film noir classic stars Barbara Stanwyck as a murderous femme fatale opposite a gullible Fred MacMurray. Stanwyck and Head would eventually work together on more than twenty-five films.
All About Eve (1950): Bette Davis plays a Broadway star upstaged by a young fan. This blockbuster was nominated for fourteen Oscars—more than Gone With the Wind—and won six, including best picture. Head won, too.
Sunset Boulevard (1950): Gloria Swanson’s Norma Desmond, the aging silent-screen goddess dressed for excess, waits for her career to rebound. And waits…. Head and the actress conceptualized the clothes together.
A Place in the Sun (1951): Elizabeth Taylor as a society debutante dazzles. So does her strapless white gown, tulle-skirted with velvet violets on the bodice—copied and worn by prom-going teenagers across America.
Roman Holiday (1953): In the role of a modern princess who escapes constraints, Audrey Hepburn motors around the Eternal City with Gregory Peck in casual and carefree clothes that play up her gamine charm.
Rear Window (1954): Working with Alfred Hitchcock, Head dresses Grace Kelly as a fashionable New York socialite in preppy outfits that are the height of propriety—and surprisingly sexy.
To Catch a Thief (1955): Watch for Grace Kelly’s blue chiffon gown, white strapless number and gold lamé extravaganza. The beach ensemble, including black capri pants with a white overskirt, would look chic today. Cary Grant enjoys the views—and not just of the Côte d’Azur.
The Birds (1963): Alfred Hitchcock’s flocks and Head’s frocks. For Tippi Hedren’s tailored look, the designer selected wool that could easily be snagged. Both impeccable and peck-able.
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969): Raindrops couldn’t keep fallin’ on Paul Newman and Robert Redford’s heads—as bank robbers, they wore everything from a fedora to a derby to a cowboy hat, all at Edith’s behest. Katharine Ross had a tricky time in a long, billowy dress as she perched on the handlebars of a bicycle while Butch pedaled—and peddled his charms.
The Sting (1973): Paul Newman and Robert Redford reunite, this time as small-time con men. Redford’s dashing haberdashery brings back the chalk-striped suit. The movie wins best picture, and septuagenarian Edith takes home her eighth Oscar.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
"In the sort of screen dappled with different states of mind which my consciousness would simultaneously unfold while I read, and which ranged from the aspirations hidden deepest within me to the completely exterior vision of the horizon which I had, at the bottom of the garden, before my eyes, what was first in me, innermost, the constantly moving handle that controlled the rest, was my belief in the philosophical richness and beauty of the book I was reading, and my desire to appropriate them for myself, whatever that book might be."