Bunuel_Luis_My_Last_Breath

(The symbolic significance of terrorism has a certain attractionfor me: the idea of destroying the whole social order, the entire humanspecies. On the other hand, I despise those who use terrorism as apolitical weapon in the service of some cause or other-those whokill people in Madrid, for instance, in order to focus attention onthe problems in Armenia.)No, the terrorists I admire are those like the Bande a Bonnot; Iunderstand people like Ascaso and Durruti who chose their victimscarefully, or the French anarchists at the end of the nineteenth century-allthose, in other words, who tried to blow up a world (andthemselves along with it) that seemed to them unworthy of survival.Sometimes there's a profound abyss between reality and my imagination~notexactly an unusual discrepancy, I'm sure; but I've neverbeen a man of action. I'm simply incapable of imitating those peopleI so admire.As a footnote to surrealism, let me add that I remained a closefriend of Charles de Noailles until the end. Whenever I went toParis, we had lunch or dinner together. On my last visit, he invitedme to the home where he'd first welcomed me fifty years before. Thistime, however, everything had changed. Marie-Laure was dead, thewalls and shelves stripped of their treasures. Like me, Charles hadbecome deaf. The two of us ate alone and spoke very little.