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1m2s
Perhaps as a result of this general silence, I had established a casual and bantering familiarity with the hotel's concierge, a West-continental known only as Monsieur Jean, who struck one as being, at once, both lazy and, really, quite accommodating. I expect he was not well paid. In any case, one evening, as I stood conferring elbow-to-elbow with Monsieur Jean, as had become my habit, I noticed a new presence in our company. A small, elderly man, smartly dressed, with an exceptionally lively, intelligent face and an immediately perceptible air of sadness. He was, like the rest of us, alone, but also, I must say, he was the first that struck one as being deeply and truly lonely. A symptom of my own medical condition as well. Who's this interesting old fellow? I inquired of Monsieur Jean. To my surprise, he was distinctly taken aback. Don't you know? He asked. Don't you recognize him? He did look familiar. That's Mr. Moustafa himself. He arrived earlier this morning.
The Grand Budapest Hotel
22.2s
He often comes and stays a week or more, three times a year at least, but never in the season. Monsieur Jean signaled to me and I leaned closer. I'll tell you a secret. He takes only a single-bed sleeping room without a bath in the rear corner of the top floor and it's smaller than the service elevator! It was well known, Zero Moustafa had purchased and famously inhabited some of the most lavish castles and palazzos on the continent.
The Grand Budapest Hotel
22.6s
However, this premature intermission in the story of the curious, old man had left me, as the expression goes, "gespannt wie ein Flitzebogen," that is, on the edge of my seat, where I remained throughout the next morning, until, in what I have found to be its mysterious and utterly reliable fashion, fate, once again, intervened on my behalf.
The Grand Budapest Hotel
36.1s
YOUNG WRITER: It was off season and, by that time, decidedly out of fashion, and it had already begun its descent into shabbiness and eventual demolition. What few guests we were had quickly come to recognize one another by sight as the only living souls residing in the vast establishment, although I do not believe any acquaintance among our number had proceeded beyond the polite nods we exchanged as we passed in the Palm Court, in the Arabian baths, and on board the Colonnade Funicular. We were a very reserved group, it seemed, and, without exception, solitary.
The Grand Budapest Hotel
33.8s
It is an extremely common mistake, people think the writer's imagination is always at work, that he's constantly inventing an endless supply of incidents and episodes, that he simply dreams up his stories out of thin air. In point of fact, the opposite is true. Once the public knows you're a writer, they bring the characters and events to you and as long as you maintain your ability to look and to carefully listen, these stories will continue to... Stop it. Stop it! Don't! Don't do it!
The Grand Budapest Hotel
25.9s
A number of years ago, while suffering from a mild case of "Scribe's Fever," a form of neurasthenia common among the intelligentsia of that time, I decided to spend the month of August in the spa town of Nebelsbad below the Alpine Sudetenwaltz, and had taken up rooms in the Grand Budapest, a picturesque, elaborate, and once widely celebrated establishment. I expect some of you will know it.
The Grand Budapest Hotel