Alain Resnais. “L’Année dernière à Marienbad”. 1961
“… Frost on the ground, the cruel winds of fate
Blow us forever
And I know there's just no escape
Run to the secret corners of your room
I'll still be waiting
I'll still be waiting…”
“… We all have those sequences, those juxtapositions of faces and atmospheres, that inhabit us most intimately. But it’s only when the heart really breaks that we find among its shards—fragments of images, of words, of music, of gestures, of feelings—the undivided substance of those who made us who we are”.
Ese monstruo inconmensurable que va ofreciendo su cara menos diplomática agazapado en el interior del cuerpo, esa lentitud hacia la decrepitud y lo extraño, el ajeno discurso de la fatalidad que se convierte en compañero inseparable.
“… Frost on the ground, the cruel winds of fate
Blow us forever
And I know there's just no escape
Run to the secret corners of your room
I'll still be waiting
I'll still be waiting…”
“… We all have those sequences, those juxtapositions of faces and atmospheres, that inhabit us most intimately. But it’s only when the heart really breaks that we find among its shards—fragments of images, of words, of music, of gestures, of feelings—the undivided substance of those who made us who we are”.
Ese monstruo inconmensurable que va ofreciendo su cara menos diplomática agazapado en el interior del cuerpo, esa lentitud hacia la decrepitud y lo extraño, el ajeno discurso de la fatalidad que se convierte en compañero inseparable.
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