Along with this I still have this absurdity of being foreign, noble, an orphan, of living in a castle lost in the countryside, and I am in the hands of a great, hypochondriac lord who looks like Chateaubriand’s father. What do you want me to do about it? Did I choose this place? I hate it.
Dialogue d'ombres
(Jean-Marie Straub, Danièle Huillet, 1954-2013)


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