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Ingmar Bergman Winter Light


Don’t come back. Don’t think about us. Don’t look back. Don’t write. Don’t give in to nostalgia. Forget us all. If you do and you come back, don’t come see me. I won’t let you in my house. Understand? Whatever you end up doing, love it. The way you loved the projection booth when you were a little squirt.

Cinema Paradiso (1988), Giuseppe Tornatore

(via cinyma)

"Every man follows his own path in search of grace, whatever that grace may be, a simple landscape with a sky overhead, a certain hour of the day or night, two trees, three if they are painted by Rembrandt, a sigh, without our knowing whether this closes or finally opens the path or where the path may lead us, whether to some other landscape, hour, tree, or sigh, behold this priest who is about to cast out one God and replace him with another, without knowing whether this new allegiance will do him any good in the end, behold this musician who would find it impossible to compose any other kind of music and who will no longer be alive a hundred years from now to hear that first symphony, which is mistakenly referred to as the Ninth, behold this one-handed soldier who has ironically become a manufacturer of wings, although he has never risen to being more than a common foot soldier, man rarely knows what to expect from life, and this man least of all, behold this woman with those extraordinary eyes, who was born to perceive wills, her revelations about a tumour, a strangled foetus, and a silver coin were mere child’s play when compared with the wonders she is destined to achieve when Padre Bartolomeu Lourenço returns to the estate of São Sebastião da Pedreira and tells her, Blimunda, Lisbon is tricken by a horrendous plague, people are dying everywhere, and it has occured to me that this is an excellent opportunity to collect wills from the dying, if they still have any, but I must warn you that you will be taking a great risk, don‘t go unless you really want to, for I shall not put you under any obligation, even if it were within my power to do so, What is this plague, It is rumoured that the plague was carried here by passengers aboard a ship from Brazil and it first broke out in Ericeira."

- José Saramago Baltasar & Blimunda

"Life has its way of teaching us. Life has its way of confusing us. Life has its way of changing us. Life has its way of astonishing us. Life has its way of hurting us. Life has its way of curing us. Life has its way of inspiring us."

- the tagline for Y Tu Mamá También

I haven’t seen too many around lately. Things have been tough lately for dreamers. They say dreaming is dead, no one does it anymore. It’s not dead it’s just that it’s been forgotten, removed from our language. Nobody teaches it so nobody knows it exists. The dreamer is banished to obscurity. Well, I’m trying to change all that, and I hope you are too. By dreaming, every day. Dreaming with our hands and dreaming with our minds. Our planet is facing the greatest problems it’s ever faced, ever. So whatever you do, don’t be bored, this is absolutely the most exciting time we could have possibly hoped to be alive. And things are just starting.

(Source: towerandbishop, via andreii-tarkovsky)

(Source: quentintarantinos, via andreii-tarkovsky)

Georgina: Try the cock, Albert. It’s a delicacy, and you know where it’s been.

The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover (Peter Greenaway, 1989)

"I need
someone to love me
in all of my forms.
To find passion
in the dirty, gory bits.
To sing lullabies
to my anxieties.
To celebrate
in my truths.
Until then,
I will do it myself."

- Michelle K., Loving Yourself is a Political Statement.  (via a-quiet-old-soul)

(via a-quiet-old-soul)

”Mama’s funeral… Now I feel quite defenseless. And no one in the world is ever going to love me as she did.”

Andrei Tarkovsky’s journal entry for October 8th, 1979

(Source: andreii-tarkovsky, via andreii-tarkovsky)

"I am that clumsy human, always loving, loving, loving. And loving. And never leaving."

- Frida Kahlo, The Diary Of Frida Kahlo: An Intimate Self-Portrait  

(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via modernhepburn)


David Stephenson - Vaults (2003-09)