Lynch Twin Peaks Quotes

In a Town like Twin Peaks noone is innocent

If only I could understand The reason for my crying If only I could stop this fear Of dreaming that I'm dying.

I will not let anyone hurt me, like in the dream. I'll hurt myself first. I know the places that are the most delicate. I'll do the hurting from now on, as long as all of this stops!!!!

Accept that you are bad and dirty and cheap and should be thrown to the wolves as scrap meat, and must never bear children, for who knows the faces they would be locked behind from birth until death.

P.S. I hope BOB doesn’t come tonight.

Part of the reason I actually preferred Twin Peaks's second season to its first was the fascinating spectacle of watching a narrative structure disintegrate and a narrative artist freeze up and try to shuck and jive when the plot reached a point where his own weaknesses as an artist were going to be exposed (just imagine the fear: this disintegration was happening on national TV).

I have simply forgotten how to be loved. Laura

I have found light and pleasure inside the horror.

I submit that the real reason we criticized and disliked Lynch's Laura's muddy bothness is that it required of us an empathetic confrontation with the exact same muddy bothness in ourselves and our intimates that makes the real world of moral selves so tense and uncomfortable, a bothness we go to the movies to get a couple hours' fucking relief from.

I wonder if life is still something I can make up.

The card for the Santa Teresa cybercafe was a deepred, so red that it was hard to read what was printed on it. On the back, in a lighter red, was a map that showed exactly where the cafe was located. He asked the receptionist to translate the name of the place. The clerk laughed and said it was called Fire, Walk With Me.

She says I think too many sad thoughts, and that if I keep it up, who knows what will happen. Donna doesn't know everything I know. I can't help but think sad thoughts sometimes. Sometimes they are the closest things on my mind.

Sometimes I think he’s just chosen to keep quiet because it is so much more interesting sometimes to just listen to people instead of talking to them.

I wanted to be a tree so that I could listen for trouble in the woods.

I like the idea of keeping my thoughts all in one place, like a brain you can look into.

Sometimes my bedroom is the best place in the world, and other times it is like a place that closes in and suffocates me. I

And when you became Denise, I told your colleagues, those clown comics; to fix their hearts or die.

I think of death these days as a companion I long to meet.

I wonder if pain, the kind that doesn't just happen when your cat is killed, or when your aunt dies, but the kind that you have to live with... can it ever be a friend?

Twin Peaks was my religion. Well, Twin Peaks and Christianity. But at present, Twin Peaks was winning. I loved God, but at the moment I was more obsessed with Bob and Dale Cooper and Audrey Horne.

I trust no one, and only rarely myself. I struggle most mornings, afternoons, and evenings with what is right an what is wrong. I do not understand if I am being punished for something I have done wrong, something I don't remember, or if this happens to everyone, and I am just too stupid to understand it.

I have such an anger and an urge to charge at the sky, to call the wind a liar for never showing itself. An urge to scream at the two who allowed my birth. Cries for help to anyone who will hear them. To scream into the street that there is a lack of miracles in Mother Nature herself. Her divinity is a lie. In

Cast as Lucy Moran, the eccentric secretary at the Twin Peaks Sheriff’s Department, Kimmy Robertson recalled the shooting of the pilot as “heaven. It was pure fun, and there were silly things with David that were magical to me. If I asked him nicely, he let me run my fingers through his hair. The hair that grows on top of that head and what’s inside that head—you can feel that in his hair. David’s hair does something and it has a function and the function has to do with God.”17

I don’t want to feed my dreams.

I do not think that hour there told me anything I could not have imagined myself, but being there, in that silence, gave me hope that at least there are no wars after death. I

I'm so tired of waiting to grow up. Someday it will happen and I'll be the only person who can make me feel good or bad about anything I do.

If I am a better person, and if I try harder every day, perhaps all of this will work out.

His apartment is small and filled with books from the toilet tank to the top of the fridge. I think he has to keep reading these stories because he so rarely has any stories of his own. I

there's a part in the essay that kind of does this academic "Let's unpack the idea of Lynchian and what Lynchian means is something about the unbelievably grotesque existing in a kind of union with the unbelievably banal," and then it gives a series of scenarios about what -- what is and what isn't Lynchian. Jeffrey Dahmer was borderline Lynchian...what was Lynchian was having the actual food products next to the disembodied bits of the corpse. I guess the big one is, you know, a regular domestic murder is not Lynchian. But if the man -- if the police come to the scene and see the man standing over the body and the woman -- let's see, the woman's '50s bouffant is undisturbed and the man and the cops have this conversation about the fact that the man killed the woman because she persistently refused to buy, say, for instance, Jif peanut butter rather than Skippy, and how very, very important that is, and if the cops found themselves somehow agreeing that there were major differences between the brands and that a wife who didn't recognize those differences was deficient in her wifely duties, that would be Lynchian -- this weird confluence of very dark, surreal, violent stuff and absolute, almost Norman Rockwell, banal, American stuff, which is terrain he's been working for quite a while -- I mean, at least since -- at least since "Blue Velvet.

When there is a marriage. A union that you were born of, not responsible for. You, child, should be a gift to those who are ready, not a burden like so many others before you. Come back, child, when I am no longer a child myself. Laura

Everyone still sees the smiling Laura Palmer. The girl with perfect grades and perfect hair and perfect little fingers that want to sometimes, late at night, go into the mirror to strangle the daydreaming troublemaker I see in the reflection!

So I spent my birthday alone. I went out to where I go with BOB. It was light out, and everything seemed like an awful dream, until I saw a piece of rope lying at the back of the base of his favorite tree. I got a chill, but forced it away. I tried to look carefully at the tree, to find something that would explain why he picked this place, this tree. There was nothing. I made sure I was alone before I did what I had planned.

We jumped immediately into the kind of candid conversation women our age could have. We discussed our menstrual cycles and our favorite films and our most hated male writers. We shared our theories on David Lynch’s problem with women and our favorite episodes of Twin Peaks. We dispensed full biographies in which we detailed run-ins with school bullies and absentee fathers, dwindling career ambitions and would-be side hustles.

Twin Peaks aired in Russia and Mikhail Gorbachev was a big fan of the show. . .One day Aaron [Spelling] gets a call from Carl Lindner who wants to know who killed Laura Palmer. Aaron was not that involved with the show on a day-to-day basis, so he calls me up and he said, “Who killed Laura Palmer?” I said, “No clue.” He said, “It’s really important.” I called David [Lynch] and he says, “I can’t tell you.” I don’t want to press David, so I call Aaron back to say, “David won’t tell me, who wants to know?” and he says “President Bush.” What happened was Gorbachev called Bush, who called Carl, who called Aaron, who called me. So I called David back and I said, “This isn’t going to go anywhere, it’ll be a secret. You have to tell me who Laura’s killer is.” That’s when I realized David had no idea who killed Laura Palmer.

THERE WAS ANOTHER, much bigger risk we took that first season. Based on a literal back-of-a-napkin pitch at a restaurant in Hollywood, ABC’s head of drama had given the go-ahead to a pilot from David Lynch, by then famous for his cult films Eraserhead and Blue Velvet, and the screenwriter and novelist Mark Frost. It was a surreal, meandering drama about the murder of a prom queen, Laura Palmer, in the fictional Pacific Northwest town of Twin Peaks. David directed the two-hour pilot, which I vividly remember watching for the first time and thinking, This is unlike anything I’ve ever seen and we have to do this.

Existentialism is the interpreted content of the Flaubertian text and of his life: the sum of “Flaubert” or Flaubert signified.

The Los Angeles Times reported that one early contender to helm the sequel was none other than filmmaker David Lynch! This was years before he would perfect his surrealistic imagery with the likes of Twin Peaks. At this point in his career, Lynch was still a fresh commodity in Hollywood, having only helmed the bizarre midnight movie Eraserhead and unsettling biopic The Elephant Man. The degree to which Lynch was connected to Halloween II remains a mystery. Carpenter would ultimately choose Harvard grad Rick Rosenthal to direct the film. This was to be his first feature directing experience.

Sartre is no ordinary reader, so if for most of Flaubert's readers there is no immediate takeoff, with Sartre it was instantaneous: Sartre/Flaubert=Lynch.

We’re like everyone else, I guess. We promise that something is forever, when it is really only as long as it takes for us to tire of it. When

I think that the times that I have to go into the woods at night have poisoned me. I

There are things we all know that we don’t look at very often,” said Robert Forster, who plays Twin Peaks sheriff Frank Truman. “Everybody knows some things are eternal, and it isn’t names or houses and it isn’t even the stars; we know in our bones there’s something eternal, though, and that it has to do with human beings. Whatever David is doing, it is of a high order, and he may be a portal to the eternal, because he asks us to find that connection to the eternal in ourselves. His work suggests that we are not just isolated atoms and that if we understand that connection to the eternal we’re capable of making better choices. Each individual can pull in a direction, and if enough of us pull in the same positive direction, there is movement that brings humanity along with it. He is leading his audience toward the good.”18

Filmművészet persze továbbra is van. De nincsen filmkultúra, s véget ért az, ami „modern filmként” vagy „művészfilmként” egy ideig történelemformáló erővel bírt. A filmművészetet immár nem egy átfogó kultúra tartja fenn és hordozza, hanem elszigetelt nevek, magányos filmrendezők, akik, a filmtörténet korai évtizedeihez hasonlóan nem alkotnak közösséget, hanem a filmipar egyetemes világában magányos bolygók benyomását keltik. Haneke, Almodóvar, Roy Anderson, Jeles András, Terence Davies, Lars von Trier, Zvjagincev, Tarr Béla, Wenders… ezt a névsort is lehetne hosszasan folytatni. Megannyi Don Quijote benyomását keltik: filmjeiket nézve jól érzékelhető, hogy valami ellenében készültek. Mire képes a test? Mi a halál? Mi a spiritualitás? Van-e még szentség? Létezik-e hagyomány? Milyen poklok vannak a lélekben? E rendezők számára is magától értetődőek ezek a kérdések. De az is látszik, hogy csakis az ő számukra azok, s nem tudnak maguk mögött egy széles közösséget, amely a nyelvüket beszélné. E kérdéseknek ugyanis már nincsen kultúrája, és különösen nincsen kultúrateremtő ereje. E rendezők magányosak, abban az értelemben, hogy kizárólag saját magukra tudnak hagyatkozni, ha ébren akarják tartani a metafizika utáni vágyat. Már nem számíthatnak az őket környező kultúrára. A lengyel költő, Adam Zagajewski szavaival: „A metafizikai érzések – valóban eltűntek volna? Nem, természetesen nem. Csakis tőlünk függ, mi történik velük. Valamennyien minden pillanatban döntünk róluk, nem rajtunk kívül léteznek, nem olyanok, mint egy olvadó jéghegy Grönlandon, melynek sorsát őszintén sajnáljuk. Nem képeznek tőlünk független kontinenst, amit az óceán elönt. Mi magunk vagyunk a metafizikai érzések. Már régóta veszélyeztetve vannak, évszázadok óta, de újra meg újra mindig megmenti őket valaki, és továbbra is meg fogja menteni.” Az említett rendezők – az egyre fogyatkozó nézők előtt – mintegy tovább adják egymásnak a stafétabotot, anélkül, hogy számíthatnának egy végső ünnepélyes díjátadásra. A kultúra – pontosabban civilizáció – ugyanis immár nem őket díjazza. A filmipar is kitermelte persze azokat a rendezőket, akik mintegy átlépték a saját árnyékukat: Tarantino vagy David Lynch például vitathatatlanul a nagyok közé tartoznak. De nagyok abban is, hogy miközben a hagyományos filmművészet szellemében észrevehetően metafizikai kérdéseket feszegetnek, ezeket hihetetlen bravúrral rántják vissza a nem-metafizika szférájába és alakítják át egydimenzióssá. S ezzel a filmipar igényeihez igazítják azokat. A Ponyvaregény, a Kutyaszorító, a Kék bársony vagy a Twin Peaks egy pillanatig sem hagy kétséget afelől, hogy alkotóiknak határozott elképzelése van a létezésről, s hogy nem idegenek tőlük a metafizikai problémák. De éppilyen nyilvánvaló az is, hogy ezeket már csak idézőjelben tudják elgondolni. Annak a hatalmas szürke sávnak a képviselői ők, amely a filmművészet és a filmipar között alakult ki: mindkét irányba megfelelni próbálnak, miközben egyikkel sem akarnak igazán azonosulni. Az úgynevezett midcult kultúrája, ami Virginia Woolf szerint a magaskultúra kiárusítása, a filmben is uralkodóvá vált. Ezek a rendezők a világot a puszta felszínre redukálják: csak az van, ami látható, megfogható, ami éppen a néző szeme előtt történik, s még az úgynevezett misztika is ebbe simul bele. És innen nincsen kiút, sugallják, még a felszín alatt is csak újabb felszín húzódik, minden ugyanoda és ugyanabba vezet vissza, ahogyan a Ponyvaregény is ott fejeződik be, ahol elkezdődött. Ez a kizárólagos felszín az, ami napjainkban az egész világ számára követendő minta, és a filmművészetet is e parancs a nevében igyekeznek a filmiparnak kiszolgáltatni.

Literature (as we understand it) would then be a fool’s occupation. You might as well be stroking a log.

I shall grow accustomed to the dark far easier than he to the light.

I have to go home. Now. It is too dark. This is not a nice place to me right now.

This warm feeling of being needed, wanted, and special, like I was a treasure... was all I wanted to feel, forever.