A Quote by Edith Wharton
Yes, one gets over things. But there are certain memories one can't bit on.
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I start crying when certain things come up, certain memories, certain feelings, and it's intense. But I think it's good for me - and therapeutic.
I've definitely done things to change my behaviour. There are certain things you can't do when you get to a certain level in what you do. When it gets to a certain time, you're a story to somebody. It is something I have taken on board.
Even if is a bit edgy, a bit out of your comfort zone, saying yes means that you will do something new, meet someone new, and make a difference in your life, and likely in others' lives as well... Yes is what keeps us all young. Yes is a tiny word that can do big things. Say it often.
I have some memories of certain things that happened in high school when I was stoned out of my mind, but I talked with other people about them, and I trusted the aggregated memories.
Find a way to say yes to things. Say yes to invitations to a new country, say yes to meet new friends, say yes to learning a new language, picking up a new sport. Yes is how you get your first job, and your next job, and your spouse, and even your kids. Even if it's a bit edgy, a bit out of your comfort zone, saying yes means that you will do something new, meet someone new, and make a difference in your life. Yes lets you stand out in a crowd, be the optimist, to stay positive, be the one everyone comes to. Yes is what keeps us all young.
Things pass, and the best we can do is to let them really go away. Getting rid of certain memories also means making some room for other memories to take their place.
Certain things come naturally, and tackling wasn't one of them; I'd sometimes go a bit over the top when I was younger.
I think over time you learn to know a bit more about yourself - you develop a certain amount of self-insight and self-awareness, and you know what you can absorb, and what you cannot; what gets to you and what doesn't.
It's hard because there's a little bit of PTSD from when you're a struggling actor, working at a restaurant or living in a garage. There's a little bit of an inherent knee-jerk reaction to say, 'Yes, yes, yes, please just give me a job.'
And yet I am happy. Yes, happy. I swear. I swear that I am happy...What does it matter that I am a bit cheap, a bit foul, and that no one appreciates all the remarkable things about me-my fantasy, my erudition, my literary gift...I am happy that I can gaze at myself, for any man is absorbing-yes, really absorbing! ... I am happy-yes, happy!
I'm a pretty hands-off director. I let people try things, and if it gets over-jokey, then I'll try and rein it in a little bit.
Sometimes I would be very upset because my memories are very murky from my childhood, but there are certain emotional memories or emotional truths that are painful, and things that I know to be the case and I had to nail them down, and that was difficult.
Every time you say yes to a film there's a certain percentage of your yes that has to do with the director, a certain percentage to do with the story, a certain percentage with the character, the location, etc.
It's strange to look back over a full season. Our characters have accrued all these memories, but so have we, the actors. And sometimes the character memories and the actor memories bleed into each other.
He who travels much has this advantage over others – that the things he remembers soon become remote, so that in a short time they acquire the vague and poetical quality which is only given to other things by time. He who has not traveled at all has this disadvantage – that all his memories are of things present somewhere, since the places with which all his memories are concerned are present.
You have your wonderful memories," people said later, as if memories were solace. Memories are not. Memories are by definition of times past, things gone. Memories are the Westlake uniforms in the closet, the faded and cracked photographs, the invitations to the weddings of the people who are no longer married, the mass cards from the funerals of the people whose faces you no longer remember. Memories are what you no longer want to remember.
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