What a privilege it is to hate. To roil in anger or resentment. What satisfaction it brings us to share our ire with others and hear it echoed or reaffirmed. We feel validated—vindicated even—and, smug in our delusion of consonance, we proceed to...
Tess Naquet-Radiguet
What a privilege it is to hate. To roil in anger or resentment. What satisfaction it brings us to share our ire with others and hear it echoed or reaffirmed. We feel validated—vindicated even—and, smug in our delusion of consonance, we proceed to...
Paint me a picture of anguish. Tell me a story of hurt. Make it aching… agonizing. Let it scintillate with tortured tears and sing with cries of pain. Let it reverberate in darkness and bleed through curtains of silence. Let it corrupt innocence, p...
Paint me a picture of anguish. Tell me a story of hurt. Make it aching… agonizing. Let it scintillate with tortured tears and sing with cries of pain. Let it reverberate in darkness and bleed through curtains of silence. Let it corrupt innocence, p...
Listen closely. A lyrical melody plays softly in the background as a heart-wrenching love story plays out, scenes woven with poetic beauty, profound meaning threaded through each performance. French cinema is an art form above entertainment, a fragme...
Listen closely. A lyrical melody plays softly in the background as a heart-wrenching love story plays out, scenes woven with poetic beauty, profound meaning threaded through each performance. French cinema is an art form above entertainment, a fragme...