the meaning of life, moving pictures, etc
"I have not read most of the big 19th-century novels that people consider “essential,” nor most of the 20th-century ones for that matter. But this does not embarrass me. There are many films to see, many friends to visit, many walks to take, many playlists to assemble and many favorite books to reread. Life’s too short for anxious score-keeping. Also, my grandmother is illiterate, and she’s one of the best people I know. Reading is a deep personal consolation for me, but other things console, too."
"In Fitzgerald’s narrative, Gatsby dies for our sins, for the sins of the men and women floating about like moths through his blue gardens who can hit and run in cold blood and live to play polo another day. In Belfort’s, it is Belfort causing the car accidents (and the helicopter accidents, and the yacht accidents), and he walks away without so much as a scratch. Scorsese leaves it up to the audience to be Carraway, to recoil in horror at the debauched behavior of the rich and run away from the theatre with a nauseous feeling and a raging hangover."
"To ask it another way around: Is what we want even what we want? We aren’t hopeful for the day that a windfall shall arrive and confer upon us some special election, are we? We expect it. The lottery ticket, the dream life, the jackpot—that’s the beginning of our story, the prerequisite for the life we will lead. Savile Row suits and an island and Jourdan Dunn are preamble. Those are our just desserts. What we actually hope for, what we think of as our hope, is well beyond the reach of our fantasies. All that I would wish for in the room is simply everything."
Hey, guess what?
And even better? You no longer need an iPhone or iPad to subscribe or read - because BW/DR Magazine is now officially available in an online version as well!
Yes, we can now officially announce the long-awaited release of a web-based reader version of the magazine, thanks to our good friends at TypeEngine and Tugboat Yards. No longer will subscriptions be limited only to those with iOS devices and iTunes accounts - now, finally, anybody with a computer can subscribe online and fully access the magazine!
We couldn’t be more excited about this—the goal with BW/DR has always been around building community and connection, with films and one another, and so having the magazine entirely accessible and available to any one with an internet connection is something we feel immensely hopeful and happy about.
So, please, tell your friends and whoever else will listen (especially if they’re film and/or writing geeks) that Bright Wall/Dark Room is now more available than ever - and still only $2 per month.
We’ll also be offering up a whole host of brand new offers, discounts, and opportunities—including the chance to purchase some of the actual artwork used in the issues!—through our new partnership with Tugboat Yards. So if you haven’t had the chance to connect with us there yet, you can do so here to see what we’re selling - and to be kept in the loop about all things BW/DR.
"The majority of men in every generation, even those who, as it is described, devote themselves to thinking, live and die under the impression that life is simply a matter of understanding more and more, and that if it were granted to them to live longer, that life would continue to be one long continuous growth in understanding. How many of them ever experience the maturity of discovering that there comes a critical moment where everything is reversed, after which the point becomes to understand more and more that there is something which cannot be understood."
"The endless, useless urge to look on life comprehensively, to take a bird’s-eye view of ourselves and judge the dimensions of what we have or have not done: this is life as landscape, or life as résumé. But life is incremental, and though a worthwhile life is a gathering together of all that one is, good and bad, successful and not, the paradox is that we can never really see this one thing that all of our increments (and decrements, I suppose) add up to."
"How strange, that all
The terrors, pains and early miseries,
Regrets, vexations, lassitudes interfused
Within my mind, should e’er have borne a part,
And that a needful part, in making up
The calm existence that is mine when I
Am worthy of myself!"
"I simply cannot live with the same creative abandon with which I can (sometimes) write, because life is a hell of a lot more difficult— and important— than art. And thus I cannot live up to my own exhortations and am left with my parvenu hesitations, my lonely and vertiginous mysticism, sounding not the clear, true notes of what I believe, but the varieties of quiet in between."