-Keep it. It’s not money I need,but a friend.
-Yes, a friend.
-A friend who can tell me
how to run away. I’ve always wanted to.
-Run away. A friend to share my pleasures and pains.
-I’ll share your pains and pleasures. But I hope it’s more pleasure than pain.
For if you figure a way to live
without serving a master…
…then let the rest us know,
For you’d be the first person
in the history of the world.
-We don’t think you’re slow but on the other hand, it’s not like you go to museums or read books or anything.
-You think I don’t want to? It’s those TV networks, Marge. They won’t let me– one quality show after another, each one fresher and more brilliant than the last. If they only stumbled once, just gave us 30 minutes to ourselves. But they won’t! They won’t let me live!
We’re taught to think that function is all that matters. But we have a natural longing for this other thing.
There is no solace above or below us, only small, solitary striving, battling one another . . . I pray to myself, for myself.
What can I say? There are times when holding a needle and thread, or a book, or a man – it’s all the same.
Take music, for instance. Less than anything else, it is connected to reality, or if connected at all, it’s done mechanically, not by way of ideas, just by a sheer sound, devoid of… any associations. And yet, music, as if by some miracle, gets through to our heart. What is it that resonates in us in response to noise brought to harmony, making it the source of the greatest delight which stuns us and brings us together?
…then give him my regards, and tell him I’ll single-handedly stomp on Visconti’s grave if the doesn’t show up tomorrow.