14 February 2008

From Bobby Long and Lawson Pines

I just watched A Love Song for Bobby Long. It was (sternly) recommended to me by Parker's father, and it was quite good. The front half certainly coasted on volition's momentum, but by the end the film had become quite a nice story to know.

Travolta plays the cracking, empty shell of a literary professor, retired and retreated to New Orleans. He and his trapped protégé toss quotes back and forth throughout the film; I'm sharing here the recitations that struck me as deftly placed dialogue.
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

T.S. Eliot, LITTLE GIDDING
That though I loved them for their faults
As much as for their good,
My friends were enemies on stilts
With their heads in a cunning cloud.

Dylan Thomas, TO OTHERS THAN YOU
One dies only once, and then for such a long time!

Molière, Le Dépit amoureux

4 comments:

bec said...

your words and outlook on life are very encouraging! thanks for passing that along.

why is it exactly that we aren't better warned about these early/mid-life crises that seem to sneak up on so many people like us???

Nicolas Frisby said...

Whoops! I meant to say that but then (obviously) got carried away with my comment. I've heard of a "quarter-life crisis," but that doesn't seem to cut it. I want a more positive description for it, like "quarter-life realization."

I very much agree that this came without warning. If my parents had this happen, I think they would have talked to me about it. So... maybe it didn't happen to them? Perhaps this is a new(ish) thing for our generation, resulting from our comfortable home lives and insulation from lots of troubles? Who knows. Or maybe they had it occur to them at a younger age?

hootenannie said...

Nick - you were linked in today's blog. :)

Allie, Dearest said...

I always mean to go and read Dylan Thomas to find out what all the salutes are for. Sounds mysterious to me. I like mysterious, I guess, as much as the next girl, when it comes to prose.