This story about Jack Nicholson demolishing Marlon Brando's house is a good reminder that worldly success doesn't count for much.
IT WAS dark, cramped and run-down, but for nearly half a century it was Marlon Brando’s home. Now his neighbour Jack Nicholson, who paid £3.4m for the house after Brando died two years ago, is planning to demolish it and plant frangipani flowers over the plot. ...
The 69-year-old actor has been advised that it would be too expensive to restore the “derelict” house which has been beset by mould. Getting the mould out would be difficult. “It’s more likely that we will take the house down,” said Nicholson last week. ...
Nearly everything owned by Brando has been destroyed or sold. Yet there is one fragment of the legacy still unaccounted for: the Oscar he received for On the Waterfront (1954).
Relatives believe he either lost it, gave it to a friend or, in a darker mood, hid the 13in statue from debt collectors. The gold-plated knight may yet emerge from Frangipani’s dust during the demolition.
Sounds like the end of another famous man whose kingdom was quickly brought to ruin.
I thought in my heart, "Come now, I will test you with pleasure to find out what is good." But that also proved to be meaningless. "Laughter," I said, "is foolish. And what does pleasure accomplish?" I tried cheering myself with wine, and embracing folly—my mind still guiding me with wisdom. I wanted to see what was worthwhile for men to do under heaven during the few days of their lives.
I undertook great projects: I built houses for myself and planted vineyards. I made gardens and parks and planted all kinds of fruit trees in them. I made reservoirs to water groves of flourishing trees. I bought male and female slaves and had other slaves who were born in my house. I also owned more herds and flocks than anyone in Jerusalem before me. I amassed silver and gold for myself, and the treasure of kings and provinces. I acquired men and women singers, and a harem as well—the delights of the heart of man. I became greater by far than anyone in Jerusalem before me. In all this my wisdom stayed with me.
I denied myself nothing my eyes desired; I refused my heart no pleasure. My heart took delight in all my work, and this was the reward for all my labor.
Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing was gained under the sun.