honey and the moonbeam.

i’m done now. sorry about that :D

Benjamin Button: [Voice over; letter to his daughter] For what it’s worth: it’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.

Sometimes we’re on a collision course, and we just don’t know it. Whether it’s by accident or by design, there’s not a thing we can do about it. A woman in Paris was on her way to go shopping, but she had forgotten her coat - went back to get it. When she had gotten her coat, the phone had rung, so she’d stopped to answer it; talked for a couple of minutes. While the woman was on the phone, Daisy was rehearsing for a performance at the Paris Opera House. And while she was rehearsing, the woman, off the phone now, had gone outside to get a taxi. Now a taxi driver had dropped off a fare earlier and had stopped to get a cup of coffee. And all the while, Daisy was rehearsing. And this cab driver, who dropped off the earlier fare; who’d stopped to get the cup of coffee, had picked up the lady who was going to shopping, and had missed getting an earlier cab. The taxi had to stop for a man crossing the street, who had left for work five minutes later than he normally did, because he forgot to set off his alarm. While that man, late for work, was crossing the street, Daisy had finished rehearsing, and was taking a shower. And while Daisy was showering, the taxi was waiting outside a boutique for the woman to pick up a package, which hadn’t been wrapped yet, because the girl who was supposed to wrap it had broken up with her boyfriend the night before, and forgot. When the package was wrapped, the woman, who was back in the cab, was blocked by a delivery truck, all the while Daisy was getting dressed. The delivery truck pulled away and the taxi was able to move, while Daisy, the last to be dressed, waited for one of her friends, who had broken a shoelace. While the taxi was stopped, waiting for a traffic light, Daisy and her friend came out the back of the theater. And if only one thing had happened differently: if that shoelace hadn’t broken; or that delivery truck had moved moments earlier; or that package had been wrapped and ready, because the girl hadn’t broken up with her boyfriend; or that man had set his alarm and got up five minutes earlier; or that taxi driver hadn’t stopped for a cup of coffee; or that woman had remembered her coat, and got into an earlier cab, Daisy and her friend would’ve crossed the street, and the taxi would’ve driven by. But life being what it is - a series of intersecting lives and incidents, out of anyone’s control - that taxi did not go by, and that driver was momentarily distracted, and that taxi hit Daisy, and her leg was crushed.

absolutely LOVE this movie.

i just found my page of quotes from “extremely loud and incredibly close” and i’m re-obsessed. i think i’m gonna start to re-read that book again tonight. one of my favorites.

“My life story is the story of everyone I’ve ever met.”

“He knew that ‘I love you’ also means ‘I love you more than anyone loves you, or has loved you, or will love you,’ and also, ‘I love you in a way that no one loves you, or has loved you, or will love you,’ and also, ‘I love you in a way that I love no one else, and never have loved anyone else, and never will love anyone else.’”

“Her life was a slow realization that the world was not for her, and that for whatever reason, she would never be happy and honest at the same time. She felt as if she were brimming, always producing and hoarding more love inside of her. But there was no release. Table, ivory, elephant charm, rainbow, onion, hairdo, mollusk, Shabbos, violence, cuticle, melodrama, ditch, honey, doily…None of it moved her. She addressed her world honestly, searching for something deserving of the volumes of love she knew she had within her, but to each she would have to say, I don’t love you. Bark-brown fence post: I don’t love you. Poem too long: I don’t love you. Lunch in a bowl: I don’t love you. Physics, the idea of you, the laws of you: I don’t love you. Nothing felt like anything more than what it actually was. Everything was just a thing, mired completely in its thingness.
If we were to open a random page in her journal- which she must have kept and kept with her at all times, not fearing that it would be lost, or discovered and read, but that she would one day stumble upon that thing which was finally worth writing about and remembering, only to find that she had no place to write it- we would find some rendering of the following sentiment: I am not in love.”

“What about little microphones? What if everyone swallowed them, and they played the sounds of our hearts through little speakers, which could be in the pouches of our overalls? When you skateboarded down the street at night you could hear everyone’s heartbeat, and they could hear yours, sort of like sonar. One weird thing is, I wonder if everyone’s hearts would start to beat at the same time, like how women who live together have their menstrual periods at the same time, which I know about, but don’t really want to know about. That would be so weird, except that the place in the hospital where babies are born would sound like a crystal chandelier in a houseboat, because the babies wouldn’t have had time to match up their heartbeats yet. And at the finish line at the end of the New York City Marathon it would sound like war.”

“She had fallen in love so many times that she began to suspect she was not falling in love at all, but doing something much more ordinary.”

“I like to see people reunited, maybe that’s a silly thing, but what can I say, I like to see people run into each other, I like the kissing and the crying, I like the impatience, the stories that the mouth can’t tell fast enough, the ears that aren’t big enough, the eyes that can’t take in all of the change, I like the hugging, the bringing together, the end of missing someone…”

“When Dad was tucking me in that night and we were talking about the book, I asked if he could think of a solution to that problem.  “Which problem?”  “The problem of how relatively insignificant we are.”  He said,  “Well, what would happen if a plane dropped you in the middle of the Sahara Desert and you picked up a single grain of sand with tweezers and moved it one millimeter?”  I said, “I’d probable die of dehydration.”  He said, “I just mean right then, when you moved that single grain of sand.  What would that mean?”  I said, “I dunno, what?”  He said, “think about it.”  I thought about it.  “I guess I would have moved a grain of sand.”  “Which would mean?”  “Which would mean I moved a grain of sand?”  “Which would mean you changed the Sahara.”  “So?” “So? So the Sahara is a vast desert.  And it has existed for million of years.  And you changed it!”  “That’s true!”  I said, sitting up.  “I changed the Sahara!”  “Which means?”  he said.  “What?  Tell me.”  “Well, I’m not talking about moving that one grain of sand one millimeter.”  “Yeah?”  “If you hadn’t done it, human history would have been one way…” “Uh-huh?”  “but you did do it, so…?”  I stood on the bed, pointed my fingers at the fake stars, and screamed:  “I changed the course of human history!”  “That’s right.”  “I changed the universe!”  “You did.”  “I’m God!’  “You’re an atheist.”  “I don’t exist!”  I fell back onto the bed, into his arms, and we cracked up together.”

“I could not believe in a God that would challenge faith like this.

“Does it break my heart, of course, every moment of every day, into more pieces than my heart was made of, I never thought of myself as quiet, much less silent, I never thought about things at all, everything changed, the distance that wedged itself between me and my happiness wasn’t the world, it wasn’t the bombs and burning buildings, it was me, my thinking, the cancer of never letting go, is ignorance bliss, I don’t know, but it’s so painful to think, and tell me, what did thinking ever do for me, to what great place did thinking ever bring me? I think and think and think, I’ve thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.”

“She was like a drowning person, flailing, reaching for anything that might save her. Her life was an urgent, desperate struggle to justify her life.”

“I’m sorry for my inability to let unimportant things go, for my inability to hold on to the important things.”

i’m done eating up your feed now. soweee.

(204): Call me in 2 minutes and go along with what I say. You’re hysterical and I must go comfort you asap. He just asked if I was ready to experience sex with a wizard and he wasnt kidding.

(textsfromlastnight.com)

(510): he said he didn’t have a condom.
(415): and you said?
(510): that that’s fine cause i was ready to be a mom. yeah - he magically had a condom he forgot about after that.

(textsfromlastnight.com)

(845): I think he was having a seizure but nobody knew because ‘what is love’ was playing

(textsfromlastnight.com)