Japanese coming-of-age writings are enchanting. Osamu Dazai’s Schoolgirl once again confirms it. Funny how I’m always charmed by narratives told from a bourgeoisie perspective.
“I wonder if I am just desensitized to the hundreds if not thousands of things I see and hear everyday, and in my bewilderment, those things end up assailing me like floating ghosts, one after another.”
“Given my lack of experience, if my books were taken away from me, I would be utterly devastated. That’s how much I depend on what’s written in books. I’ll read one book and be completely wild about it - I’ll trust it, I’ll assimilate it, I’ll sympathize with it, I’ll try to make it a part of my life. Then, I’ll read another book and, instantly, I’ll switch over to that one. The sly ability to steal someone else’s experience and recreate it as if it were my own is the only real talent I possess.”
“Really, I don’t know which is the true me. What ever will I do when there aren’t any more books to read, or when I can’t find another role model to imitate? Probably just wither away, helpless and sniveling profusely.”
“They scolded us for not having any real hopes or real ambitions, but if we were to pursue our true ideals, would these people watch and guide us along the way?”
“I wonder if there are people who don’t lie. If there are, they must always be losers.”
“There is a certain satisfaction in being dragged around, as well as a separate sad feeling as I watch it happen. Why is it that we cannot be happy with ourself or love only ourself thoughtout our life? It is pathetic to watch whatever emotions or sense of reason I have acquired up to that point to be devoured by instinct.”
“Suddenly, I think I want to be sick. If I contracted a serious enough illness, and I were to sweat profusely that I wasted away, perhaps then I would be cleansed and pure.”
“Heaven forbid if beauty were to have substance. Genuine beauty is always meaningless, without virtue. It goes without saying. Which is why I love rococo.”
“Nobody in the world understood our suffering. In time, when we became adults, we might look back on this pain and loneliness as a funny thing, perfectly ordinary, but - but how were we expected to get by, to get through this interminable period of time until that point when we were adults?”
“Sometimes happiness arrives one night too late. The thought occurred to me as I lay there. You wait and wait for happiness, and when finally you can’t bear it any longer, you rush out of the house, only to hear later that a marvelous happiness arrived the following day at the home you had abandoned, and now it was too late. Sometimes happiness arrives one night too late. Happiness...”
“Good night. I’m Cinderella without her prince. Do you know where to find me in Tokyo? You won’t see me again.”
origamiaround
germansingergirl
prguitarman
