Ordinary men commit extraordinary evil all the time. Trust me.
MOST PEOPLE think acting is make-believe. Like it__ a big game where people put on costumes and feign kisses or stab wounds and then pretend to gasp and die. They think it__ a show. They don__ understand that acting is becoming someone else, changing your thoughts and needs until you don__ remember your own anymore. You let the other person invade everything you are and then you turn yourself inside out, spilling their identity onto the stage like a kind of bloodletting.
Everything You Want Me to Be
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MOST PEOPLE think acting is make-believe. Like it__ a big game where people put on costumes and feign kisses or stab wounds and then pretend to gasp and die. They think it__ a show. They don__ understand that acting is becoming someone else, changing your thoughts and needs until you don__ remember your own anymore. You let the other person invade everything you are and then you turn yourself inside out, spilling their identity onto the stage like a kind of bloodletting.
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Man's devilish thoughts is the devil and the devil is man.
A son for a son, heh. But that's a grandson...and he never was much use." --Walder Frey
The stage is a magic circle where only the most real things happen, a neutral territory outside the jurisdiction of Fate where stars may be crossed with impunity. A truer and more real place does not exist in all the universe.
Now when Túrin learnt from Finduilas of what had passed, he was wrathful, and he said to Gwindor: 'In love I hold you for your rescue and sake-keeping. But now you have done ill to me, friend, to betray my right name, and call my doom upon me, from which I would lie hid.'But Gwindor answered: 'The doom lies in yourself, not in your name.
The biggest spur to my interest in art came when I played van Gogh in the biographical film Lust For Life. The role affected me deeply. I was haunted by this talented genius who took his own life, thinking he was a failure. How terrible to paint pictures and feel that no one wants them. How awful it would be to write music that no one wants to hear. Books that no one wants to read. And how would you like to be an actor with no part to play, and no audience to watch you. Poor Vincent__e wrestled with his soul in the wheat field of Auvers-sur-Oise, stacks of his unsold paintings collecting dust in his brother's house. It was all too much for him, and he pulled the trigger and ended it all. My heart ached for van Gogh the afternoon that I played that scene. As I write this, I look up at a poster of his "Irises"__ poster from the Getty Museum. It's a beautiful piece of art with one white iris sticking up among a field of blue ones. They paid a fortune for it, reportedly $53 million. And poor Vincent, in his lifetime, sold only one painting for 400 francs or $80 dollars today. This is what stimulated my interest in buying works of art from living artists. I want them to know while they are alive that I enjoy their paintings hanging on my walls, or their sculptures decorating my garden