You go through life in a series of peaks and valleys.
This game is so elusive. You try to maintain the peaks and level up the valleys.
And now comes Pete Martell in Twin Peaks and he's just a nice guy.
I think one of the things about ageing is the jagged peaks become a little bit mellower. . . ? Heheh. And I feel like I'm able to understand a little bit better where that sort of tack comes from.
The thought of a man being the murderer of his own daughter in the Twin Peaks was anathema to me. At the time, I had a 2-year-old daughter of my own, and that possibility really turned me off. I was praying that I wouldn't be the one.
Only an unhinged movie survives as a disconnected series of images, of peaks, of visual icebergs. It should display not one central idea but many. It should not reveal a coherent philosophy of composition. It must live on, and because of, its glorious ricketiness.
It's like never hearing a Joy Division album or something. I'm finally watching Twin Peaks, and I'm so into it.
You watch guys live through their peaks, and then unfortunately, you've got to come down from that peak.
Genuine love not only respects the individuality of the other but actually cultivates it, even at the risk of separation or loss. The ultimate goal of life remains the spiritual growth of the individual, the solitary journey to peaks that can be climbed only alone.
Behind each triumph are new peaks to be conquered.
It Is Natural For Everyone Everywhere To Have Peaks And Valleys At Work And In Life.
Films are fantastic - they are one of the peaks of human narrative. But I'm sorry to break the news to the movie industry: So is a video game.
My valleys are higher than most people's peaks. I stay at that level.
I call that brilliant sequence of cultural peaks The Ascent of Man.
Once in a while it vanishes - in the sense that I become deaf to beauty for a week or two or three. This coming and going of the inner life - because this is what it is - is a curse and a blessing. I don't need to explain why it's a curse. A blessing because it brings about a movement, an energy which, when it peaks, creates a poem. Or a moment of happiness.
I grew up in Colorado - went back there, tried to heal myself and grow and learn, then got a call that David Lynch wanted me to fly back to Seattle so he could meet me for Twin Peaks.
Here I am, safely returned over those peaks from a journey far more beautiful and strange than anything I had hoped for or imagined - how is it that this safe return brings such regret?
It makes no difference how many peaks you reach if there was no pleasure in the climb.
Well, I do expect a lot of myself. I'm a harsh critic because I know what I'm capable of. I have hit those occasional peaks amongst the valleys, but the peaks are so few-things like genuine flashes of virtuoso brush inking, like I've never executed before or since-I can count on one hand the number of jobs where I've been able to hit that mark. The same with penciling. Sometimes it just flows, but more often than not, it's pure physical and spiritual torment just to get something decent on paper. I often get very discouraged with the whole creative process.
Physical beauty is like athletic skill: it peaks young.
