We could never understand why the girls cared so much about being mature, or why they felt compelled to compliment each other, but sometimes, after one of us had read a long portion of the diary out loud, we had to fight back the urge to hug one another or to tell each other how pretty we were. We felt the imprisonment of being a girl, the way it made your mind active and dreamy, and how you ended up knowing which colors went together. We knew that the girls were our twins, that we all existed in space like animals with identical skins, and that they knew everything about us though we couldn’t fathom them at all. We knew, finally, that the girls were really women in disguise, that they understood love and even death, and that our job was merely to create the noise that seemed to fascinate them.
—
taken from: The Virgin Suicides, by Jeffrey Eugenides / film adaptation: 1999
Given that suicide scenes are the one thing I cannot handle I should have probably abstained from watching a film entitled “The Virgin Suicides” late at night. Since even literary references to suicide tend to keep me up at night and give me nightmares I’m going to focus on the above quote, which is, in my opinion, profound. I have that bittersweet taste right now that I last experienced after finishing “The Bell Jar” for the first time.
Worthy of visit: The Virgin Suicides via GoogleBooks
Worthy of visit: To Write Love On Her Arms
