Harris: I don't think we should make love, all right? SanDeE*: Okay, we'll just have sex...stuff like that. Captain Robert Walton: Who are you? The Creature: (S)He never gave me a name.
Cady: [after seeing Regina in mirror] Regina, wow, you look really beautiful. Regina: I'm wearing a spinal halo. Cady: Look, I'm really sorry about the bus. I feel like it's all my fault. Regina: Stopping making this about you. I'm the one that got hit by the bus. Cady: [voiceover] Ms. Norbury had us write out apologies to people we'd hurt in our lifes. Michigan Girl: Alyssa, I'm sorry I called you a gap-toothed bitch. Is not your fault you're so gap-toothed. Cady: I'm really sorry about all the other stuff too. Regina: Okay, I'm going to forgive you because I'm a very Zen person... and I'm on a lot of pain medication right now.
But for now: objects are what we make, images are what is done to us. I've seen someone get sick and people have fainted with La Region Centrale, so I must be doing something right. Offscreen: It seems that the print itself is all worn out.
Nigel: [hands Andrea a pair of shoes] I guessed an 8 and a half. Andrea: I don't think I'll need these. I mean, Miranda hired me. She knows what I look like. Nigel: Do you? Christian Thompson: Je suis très, très désolé. Andy Sachs: You're not that désolé at all. Monica: Stick out your tongue. Chandler: Take off your shirt. It makes me sad because I've never seen such - such beautiful shirts before.
On the 30th of April 2008, Kenneth Anger will present two new works at the Donaufestival in Austria. First up is the world premiere of his highly anticipated feature film Ich Will! (I want!) followed by the audiovisual live-performance project Technikolor Skull which features Liars and other special guests.
Ich Will! is a study of the Hitler Youth - the Jugend. ItÂ..s a visual poem in which I make a parallel between the Hitler Jugend and the Wandervogel movement which preceded it. ItÂ..s all a case of male bonding and exploiting it for good or bad. Just kids going out and sleeping in the forest an
The lip line was being erased and corrected according to some mysterious perspective; not a finger trembled as she manipulated the lip-stick, not a glance wavered in his direction. It was a triumph of concentration.
"Why don't you try to eat it? It can't be as bad as you think." "Just--because--I--don't--like--chicken!
I let him run on (and on) And it seemed to me, if I tried to Poke my finger through him I would find nothing, Maybe. Loose dirt. And under the present man, I had upset both, and not a little.
He talked precipitately and I did not stop him, did not try to!
In high stillness, all this was great, this river I could see through the glittering, somber gaps. With Appeal or else menace, expectant, and mute. I believed it for some idea. Sometimes.
He would get shy and mutter about something about getting on all fours.
Lies have their mortality I detest not being straighter, though. I just hate it. In the world, what to forget. I went near it enough to let him believe what he imagined--his influence. I had a notion in it somehow, at that time I did not see---you understand. He was just a word to me.
_Beauty, who was born anew every hundred years, sat in a sort of outdoor waiting room through which blew gusts of white wind and occasionally a breathless hurried star. The stars winked at her intimately as they went by and the winds made a soft incessant flurry in her hair. She was incomprehensible, for, in her, soul and spirit were one--the beauty of her body was the essence of her soul. She was that unity sought for by philosophers through many centuries. In this outdoor waiting room of winds and stars she had been sitting for a hundred years, at peace in the contemplation of herself._
_It became known to her, at length, that she was to be born again. Sighing, she began a long conversation with a voice that was in the white wind, a conversation that took many hours and of which I can give only a fragment here._
"It started from a notion of an experience I had as a child: I would sit inside wardrobes. . .that was my hiding place. I just remember the sort of delicious smell, the blackness, the very material smell of all the different fabrics or whatever was inside. . . It was a very magical place but also a very sinister place." Rachel Whiteread
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