Little Miss Sunshine

Yesterday Ale dropped by to visit me, not at all afraid of being infected by the virus in me (mue je jem), and after dinner with my disfunctional and quite crazy family we watched Little Miss Sunshine, a movie I didn't trust very much by its name, but that it turned to be just brilliant.

One of the quotes I'd like to refresh from it is the one that comes up when Dwayne, a teenager, says that he'd wish he could fall asleep for the next three years, and avoid all the adolescence suffering. To this his uncle answers:

“You know Marcel Proust...French writer. Total loser. Never had a real job. Unrequited love affairs. Gay. Spent twenty years writing a book almost no one reads. But he is also probably the greatest writer since Shakespeare.

Anyway, he gets down to the end of his life, and he looks back and decides that all those years he suffered, those were the best years of his life because they made him who he was. All the years he was happy, you know, total waste, didn’t learn a thing.”

Quite true, don't you think? Or maybe not..