“I had a long time to consider the value of memory, and the idea that just because something doesn’t last forever doesn’t mean its worth is diminished. Maybe it was just a rationalization - easier on the soul than mourning what might have been - the life unlived. I honestly don’t know, but I chose to believe in memory. I chose to believe in her. I chose to believe that the bond was never broken and that we carried each other in our hearts. As a secret singularity. She made me a writer. She made me a man.”
Y'all know about killing? I’d like to hear about it, potheads. You smoke this shit to escape from reality? Me, I don’t need this shit. I am reality. There’s the way it outta be, there’s the way it is…Now, I got no fight with any man who does what he’s told. But when he don’t, the machine breaks down. And when the machine breaks down, we break down. And I ain’t gonna allow that from any of ya. Not one.
When a woman makes the choice to marry–to have children, in one way her life begins, but in another way it stops. You build a life of details. You become a mother, a wife, and you stop and stay steady so that your children can move. And when they leave, they take your life of details with them. And then you’re expected to move again. Only you don’t remember what moves you–no one has asked in so long. The Bridges of Madison County.