Paromita’s Reviews > The Post-Office Girl > Status Update
Paromita
is on page 28 of 274
Surrounded by this coarse and lustful postwar generation she feels ancient, tired, useless, and overwhelmed, unwilling and unable to compete. No more struggling, no more striving, that’s the main thing! Breathe calmly, daydream quietly, do your work ask not, want not. No more asking for anything, nothing new, nothing exciting. The war stole her decade of youth. She has no courage, no strength left even for happiness.
— Nov 28, 2024 11:28AM
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Paromita’s Previous Updates
Paromita
is on page 243 of 274
...And we thought the gun was the only way. But that was wrong. Now we know there’s another way after all, one last chance. The only question is whether we have the courage to seize the opportunity, and how to go about it.”
— Nov 28, 2024 12:12PM
Paromita
is on page 243 of 274
“Let’s think, yes. Today we made up our minds to end it all, we were going to ‘take our lives,’ to use that cliché. But that’s not true. We didn’t want to take our lives, you and I. We just wanted out of our ruined lives at last, and there was no other way out. It was poverty we wanted out of—not life but this life, the senseless, abominable, unbearable, inescapable life we have. That’s all...
— Nov 28, 2024 12:12PM
Paromita
is on page 190 of 274
...Once I’m where I want to be, when I can breathe freely, when my own life’s straightened out, maybe then I’ll give some thought to fixing up the world—after I’ve had my dinner. But first I’ve got to know where I stand. You have time to worry about other things, but I’ve only got time for my own problems.
— Nov 28, 2024 12:03PM
Paromita
is on page 190 of 274
All I care about is me, and the only government I’m going to serve is my own work. I don’t give a damn how the next generation makes out, whether it’s this or that, Communist or Fascist or Socialist. What’s it to me how they’re living or how they’re going to live? The only thing that matters is that I get the little pieces of my life back together again at last and accomplish what I was born for...
— Nov 28, 2024 12:03PM
Paromita
is on page 157 of 274
She throws herself down onto the bed fully clothed, biting down hard on the pillow to keep from screaming with helpless hatred. Because suddenly she hates everyone and everything, herself and everyone else, wealth and poverty, everything about this hard, unendurable, incomprehensible life.
— Nov 28, 2024 11:55AM
Paromita
is on page 157 of 274
the awful smell of poverty. How terrible it is to have to live here, and why, who’s it for? Why breathe this in day after day, knowing that there’s another world out there somewhere, the real one, and in herself another person, who is suffocating, being poisoned, in this miasma. Her nerves are jangling...
— Nov 28, 2024 11:55AM
Paromita
is on page 152 of 274
...But the glowing needle goes in, the paralyzed nerve doesn’t respond, and the patient realizes with horror that part of his body has no feeling, that he’s carrying a little bit of death in his own warm body.
— Nov 28, 2024 11:52AM
Paromita
is on page 152 of 274
Her intelligence grasps clearly that she ought to feel shock, alarm, anxiety, but however alert she is the emotions don’t function. They don’t acknowledge the message, don’t respond, like a numb leg that the doctor sticks with a needle. The patient sees the needle, knows perfectly well that it’s sharp, knows it will hurt terribly as it goes in, and he tenses for a pain that must convulse him...
— Nov 28, 2024 11:52AM
Paromita
is on page 137 of 274
Just so I never see his face again, no one’s, never see any of them again, be gone, never again humiliate myself in front of these arrogant, cowardly, self-satisfied people, get out of here, take nothing more from them, no more gifts, never be taken in again, never betray myself to them, any of them, anyone, go, better to die in some corner.
— Nov 28, 2024 11:50AM
Paromita
is on page 126 of 274
Memory is so corrupt that you remember only what you want to; if you want to forget about something, slowly but surely you do.
Fear is a distorting mirror in which anything can appear as a caricature of itself, stretched to terrible proportions; once inflamed, the imagination pursues the craziest and most unlikely possibilities. What is most absurd suddenly seems the most probable
— Nov 28, 2024 11:48AM
Fear is a distorting mirror in which anything can appear as a caricature of itself, stretched to terrible proportions; once inflamed, the imagination pursues the craziest and most unlikely possibilities. What is most absurd suddenly seems the most probable
