A Quote by S. S. Rajamouli

No director can ever deliver what's on his or her mind totally, but 'Baahubali-2' is the closest I can get in executing what I had envisaged onto the celluloid. — © S. S. Rajamouli
No director can ever deliver what's on his or her mind totally, but 'Baahubali-2' is the closest I can get in executing what I had envisaged onto the celluloid.
Strangely, what pierced his heart and mind most sharply was not the memory of her lips under his at the ball, but the way she had leaned into his neck, as if she trusted him utterly. He would have given everything he had in the world and everything he would ever have, just to lie beside her in the narrow infirmary bed and hold her while she slept. Pulling away from her had been like pulling his own skin off, but he'd had to do it.
When we started work on 'Baahubali,' my sheer aim was to be able to live up to the imagination that Rajamouli sir had in mind. As an actor, my intention was to bring up 'Baahubali' live on screen for the audiences. I never even expected in my wildest of dreams that the film would grow on to become a phenomenon of sorts.
Otherwise [digital revolution] hasn't changed my way of filmmaking, I'm not nostalgic in postulating we should still make films on celluloid. I love celluloid but I don't need to continue on celluloid.
It's an honour for the entire 'Baahubali' team to be associated with Karan Johar, since he is the biggest name in the country as a producer and director with his brand Dharma Productions.
A film director is not a creator, but a midwife. His business is to deliver the actor of a child that he did not know he had inside him.
Alex gazed at her. Her mouth was slightly open; she ran her fingernail against her lower teeth as she thought. She'd knotted her hair at the nape of her neck again, and a strand had slipped loose onto her shoulder, gleaming in the lantern light. Suddenly all of his objections seemed meaningless. Don't, he thought. You'll regret it. He didn't care anymore. Slowly, unable to stop himself, he reached out and cupped his hand around her foot.
This is a career about images. It's celluloid; they last for ever. I'm a black woman from America. My people were slaves in America, and even though we're free on paper and in law, I'm not going to allow you to enslave me on film, in celluloid, for all to see.
The notes sound like they're coming from inside your mind... It was the closest thing to a psychedelic experience I've ever had.
As a child he had grown up without a mother or even a grandmother. He had never really explored emotional relationships or marriage. He'd never been given advice on the matter. The closest he'd really come to seeing a relationship was watching Ryland Miller pursue Lily. The man had lost his mind. Nicholas had a feeling he'd joined the ranks of en losing their mind over women.
Every wife who slaves to keep herself pretty, to cook her husband's favourite meals, to build up his pride and confidence in himself at the expense of his sense of reality, to be his closest and effectively his only friend, to encourage him to rejectthe consensus of opinionand find reassurance only in her arms is binding her mate to her with hoops of steel that will strangle them both.
Brigan was saying her name, and he was sending her a feeling. It was courage and strength, and something else too, as if he were standing with her, as if he'd taken her within himself, letting her rest her entire body for a moment on his backbone, her mind in his mind, her heart in the fire of his. The fire of Brigan's heart was astounding. Fire understood, and almost could not believe, that the feeling he was sending her was love.
When Eleanor's arm touched his he felt his hands grow cold with deadly fear lest he should lose the shadow brush with which his imagination was painting wonders of her. He watched her from the corners of his eyes as ever he did when he walked with her-- she was a feast and a folly and he wished it had been his destiny to sit forever on a haystack and see life through her green eyes.
His desperation and misery swept her up like a storm capturing the sea. She turned her mind to even these feelings, because they were his, like his terrified rage in the lift when they had first met, being wrapped in his arms in the cold well, being dazzled by his wonder at the woods and her home and her. Like being a child, awareness of him the morning chorus that woke her and the lullaby that sent her to sleep, his thoughts always her first and last song.I love you, Kami told him, and cut.
Keep your shirt on," she said with a laugh at her bad joke. "Your clothes are at the laundry. They'll deliver them as soon as they're ready." "And in the meantime?" "Looks like you're naked." His jaw worked as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I beg your pardon?" "Beg all you want, you're still going to be naked." Tabitha paused at the wicked image in her mind. "Come to think of it, a gorgeous, begging, naked man… that's the stuff of fantasies. Begging won't get you your clothes, but it could get you something else." She wiggled her eyebrows at him.
The world cannot hold onto you, for the world is not sentient. The world doesn't have a mind nor does it have desires; it is only your mind's objectivisation. It is your own mind's play which imagines that an object-call it the mind or whatever-can hold onto you. It is the idea you have of who you are that is holding onto its own fearful projections as the mind. Leave all of this and remain as the pure, joyous Self.
She had time to make room for him in her closet. The cat had time to get used to him. They had all the time they needed, because he'd told her he was hers, and he was a man of his word. "I've got all I need," she told him. He leaned down and kissed her again, then stroked a finger over her temple, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I want you to know," he said. "That you're the best choice I ever made." "No regrets?" "No regrets.
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