"25 years. That's, uh, well, it's impressive."
"Well, you figure, you sleep one-third of your life, that knocks out eight years of marriage right there. So you're, y'know, down to 16 in change. You know you're just a teenager, at marriage, you can drive it but there's still the occasional accident."
Sofia Coppola's Lost In Translation, to me, always represented the scintillating romantic feeling that exists within a certain kind of platonic relationship. A whirlwind friendship, if you will, with all the spontaneous and liberating excitement that such a proposition entails. The impossibly rare sensation where you can simply exist as your honest self in another person's company, delighting in every second spent together and sharing in a precious experience.