"Ladies, Sam is a catch. He's well-read, funny, handsome, and above all, human - so very, very human."
I think human means I fuck up sometimes in really endearing ways but I can't confirm this.
Writing is the most difficult thing I've ever done. It's part madness, part devotion. Some days you think you're Melville, most days you're Dan Brown. I've lived like a vagabond on and off for years, and this is my latest and most successful attempt to live like a grown-ass person. It's like putting down the spyglass for a microscope: a new perspective, full of smaller creatures, but no less strange.
Recognizing obscure actors in bit parts
Talking to strangers
Finding my way without a map
That said, if you don't like The Life Aquatic, who are you? WHO ARE YOU?
Here are scenes from other things I really like:
"I know how to do it now. There are nearly 13 million people in the world. Can you imagine that many people? And none of those people is an extra. They're all leads in their own stories. They have to be given their due."
Or when Claudia Cardinale takes Guido for a ride in 8 1/2, and she deflects in the most delightful and loving way all of Guido's bullshit.
Or the smile on Zero Moustafa's face at the end of The Grand Budapest Hotel, just as the elevator closes.
Listen, I've spent a lotta time in a big dark room by myself, with my own consciousness dissolved, witnessing other lives. It's important.
A passage I really like:
There's nothing back at "The White Visitation" he really needs. Nothing he can't let go. Clothes on his back and the pool motorcycle, a pocket full of spare change and anger unlimited, what more does a 30-year-old innocent need to make his way in the city? "I'm fucking Dick Whittington!" it occurs to him zooming down Kings Road, "I've come to London! I'm your Lord Mayor. . . ."
And a poem I really like:
Let us seize pleasures; life is ours to claim;
Too soon we shall be ashes, ghosts, a name.
They're all I need to get by. How we live and who we are determined by the stories we hear, the stories we believe, the stories we keep telling ourselves.
Did I just cheat this category? Yes, yes I did.
I wake up in the morning and I want to buy a growler of cold brew and drive west until the sun goes down. Then do it again. And again until I run out of country.