Механизмът на любовта

“Ами ако любовта беше произведение на изкуството? Ако можеше да си купиш на търг най-великите любовни истории и сам да ги преживееш?“

„Най-добратаоферта“ е любовен филм. Не е филм за изкуството, не е филм за сложния свят на акционерните къщи, не е филм за вероятно един от най-оригиналните и хитро замислени обири в кино историята. Не. Филмът разказва как героят, господин Олдман (Старецът), се влюбва за последен път. Точно така. За последен. Когато Върджил въвежда своята Клер в тайния си, скрит от света „харем“, той ѝ казва:

„Колекционирам тези портрети цял живот. Обичал съм всички тези жени и те също ме обичаха. Всички те ме научиха да очаквам теб.“

Тъкмо това е нишката в основата на цялата история, това е истината, която е, колкото очевидна, толкова трудно забележима, понеже векове наред романтици и романтички са възпявали в захлас чудесата и великолепието на първата любов. Но те всички грешат. Най-велика, най-значима е не първата, а последната любов. Тази, която обезсмисля всичко, съществувало преди нея. Тази, с която се сравнява всичко след това.

„Във всеки фалшификат има по нещо автентично. Имитирайки чуждата работа, фалшификаторът не може да устои да не вложи нещо от себе си. Често това е дребен, безинтересен детайл, един неволен рисунък с четката, чрез който той неизбежно издава себе си и личната си автентична чувственост. (...) Човешките емоции са като произведения на изкуството – могат да бъдат фалшифицирани. Изглеждат истински, но са фалшификат. Всичко може да бъде подправено.“

За съжаление последната любов не се интересува дали е автентична или не, споделена или не – тя изгаря всичко по пътя си, разрушава мостовете, раздира пътищата и не ти оставя никакъв път за отстъпление.

„Сигурен съм че механичната кукла на Воконсън не е могла да говори. Някъде вътре в нея се е криело джудже, няма как иначе да е.“, твърди уверено младият инженер.

Последната сцена, гениална, болезнено красива, почти не съдържа думи. Но казва всичко, което има да се знае. Старецът е изпаднал до ролята на джуджето, свито сред зъбчатите колела, подвластно на механизмите на фалшивата кукла. Но дори и тогава, дори и сред смазващата яснота на тази механична грамада, последната любов не се отказва, не отпуска хватката си.

„Не съм сам. Чакам някого“, казва господни Олдман и това е самата истина. Съвсем отделен въпрос е дали някой бърза към срещата.

Словесни концентрати: "A Hat Full of Sky", Terry Pratchett

The old boots, even though she had to wear several pairs of socks with them, were much more comfortable and really easy to walk in. They’d been walking since long before Tiffany was born, and knew how to do it.

Wishes needed thought. She was never likely to say out loud, “I wish that I could marry a handsome prince” but knowing that if you did you’d probably open the door to find a stunned prince, a tied-up priest, and a Nac Mac Feegle grinning cheerfully and ready to act as best man definitely made you watch what you said.

The kitchen was cold and quiet, except for the ticking of a clock on the wall. Both the hands had fallen off the clock face and lay at the bottom of the glass cover, so while the clock was still measuring time, it wasn’t inclined to tell anyone about it.

Most people  used the traditional method of finding out whether plants were poisonous or useful by testing them on some elderly aunt they didn’t need, but Miss Level was pioneering new techniques that she hoped would mean life would be better for everyone (and, in the case of the aunts, often longer, too).

A lawn meant you were posh enough to afford to give up valuable potato space.

We heard a song - it went “Twinkle twinkle little star….” What power! What wondrous power! You can take a billion trillion tons of flaming matter, a furnace of unimaginable strength, and turn it into a little song for children.

One of the most amazing things about the universe, was that, sooner or later, everything is made of everything else, although it’ll probably take millions and millions of years for this to happen. Tiffany knew that what had once been tiny living creatures was now the chalk of the hills. Everything went around, even stars.

“Rain don’t fall on a witch if she doesn’t want it to, although personally I prefer to get wet and be thankful.”

“Thankful for what?” said Tiffany.    

“That I’ll get dry later.”

Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.

Словесни концентрати: "The Wee Free Men", Terry Pratchett

She’d read the dictionary all the way through. No one told her you weren't supposed to.

Ordinary fortune-tellers tell you what you want to happen; witches tell you what’s going to happen whether you want it to or not. Strangely enough, witches tend to be more accurate but less popular.

On teachers: 

What they did was sell invisible things. And after they’d sold what they had, they still had it. They sold what everyone needed but often didn't want. They sold the key to the universe to people who didn't even know it was locked.

Once you learn about magic, I mean really learn about magic, learn everything you can learn about magic, then you've got the most important lesson still to learn - not to use it.

All the stories had, somewhere, the witch. The wicked old witch. And Tiffany had thought, Where’s the evidence? The stories never said why she was wicked. It was enough to be an old woman, enough to be all alone, enough to look strange because you had no teeth. It was enough to be called a witch.

If you trust in yourself and believe in your dreams and follow your star…you'll still get beaten by people who spent their time working hard and learning things and weren't so lazy.

She's clearly got First Sight and Second Thoughts. That’s a powerful combination.

Some girl who can't tell the difference between a wolf and her grandmother must either have been as dense as teak or come from an extremely ugly family.

It seemed to her that there were times when things didn't divide easily into “true” and “false,” but instead could be things that people needed to know at the moment and things that they didn't need to know at the moment.

The skylarks stopped singing, and while she hadn't really noticed their song, their silence was a shock. Nothing’s louder than the end of a song that’s always been there.

She tried to pretend she hadn't thought that, but she was treacherously good at spotting when she was lying. That’s the trouble with a brain—it thinks more than you sometimes want it to.

They think all writing is magic. Words worry them. See their swords? They glow blue in the presence of lawyers.

“Whut’s the plan, Rob?” said one of them.

“Okay, lads, this is what we’ll do. As soon as we see somethin’, we’ll attack it. Right?”

He’s probably their battle poet. He recites poems that frighten the enemy. Remember how important words are to the Nac Mac Feegle? Well, when a well-trained gonnagle starts to recite, the enemy’s ears explode.

It was very unusual for Granny Aching to say more than a sentence. She used words as if they cost money.

We dinna mourn like ye do, ye ken. We mourn for them that has tae stay behind.

To be alone among strangers would be too much for a heart to bear.

They willna let me play doon there on account o’ them sayin’ my playin’ sounds like a spider tryin’ to fart through its ears.

All the birds and beasts up here know it’s good luck to be friends wi’ the Nac Mac Feegle. Well, to tell ye the truth it’s more that they know it’s unlucky not to be friends wi’ the Nac Mac Feegle.”

Ach, she’s a bit on the big side, no offense to her - if a laddie was tae try tae cuddle this one, he’d have tae leave a chalk mark to show where he left off yesterday.

Tiffany lived on a farm. Any little beliefs that babies are delivered by storks or found under bushes tend to get sorted out early on if you live on a farm, especially when a cow is having a difficult calving in the middle of the night.

The music was strange. There was a kind of rhythm to it, but it sounded muffled and odd, as if it was being played backward, underwater, by musicians who’d never seen their instruments before.

Everything was spun or glazed or added to or mixed up. This wasn't food - it was what food became if it had been good and had gone to food heaven.

They were faraway cheeses with strange-sounding names, cheeses like Treble Wibbley, Waney Tasty, Old Argg, Red Runny, and the legendary Lancre Blue, which had to be nailed to the table to stop it attacking other cheeses.

People who say things like “May all your dreams come true” should try living in one for five minutes.

She’d always thought that the lighthouse was full of light, on the basis that on the farm the cowshed was full of cows and the woodshed was full of wood.

With all the treasure you've stolen, you can pay enough to be very innocent indeed.

The thing about witchcraft is that it’s not like school at all. First you get the test, and then afterward you spend years findin’ out how you passed it. It’s a bit like life in that respect.