Compared to a novel, a film is like an economy pizza where there are no olives, no ham, no anchovies, no mushrooms, and all you’ve got is the dough.

You could start at a path leading nowhere more fantastic than from your own front steps to the sidewalk, and from there you could go… well, anywhere at all.

Mana  ki tum saath nahi Ho, 
Par tere n hone Par bhi tujhse hi wafadari nibhayege, 
Hum wada Karte h tujhse tere baad ab hum kisi aur ko Apne dil m nahi basayege

The words came out slowly, haltingly, as if they had cost him a struggle. Nan had noticed before now that anger was too big a garment for him; it always hung on him in uneasy folds.

Written By Edith Wharton

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