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paigeweb's reviews
99 reviews
The Waves by Virginia Woolf
3.75
"Yes, this is the eternal renewal, the incessant rise and fall and fall and rise again."
Perfume: The Story of a Murderer by Patrick Süskind
4.75
Brilliant, I loved it for all its weirdness and macabre humor
Written on the Body by Jeanette Winterson
5.0
Reading this book for the first time was such a visceral experience I'll never forget. Perhaps the most romantic book ever written?
"I dropped into the mass of you and I cannot find the way out... Myself in your skin, myself lodged in your bones, myself floating in the cavities that decorate every surgeon's wall. That is how I know you. You are what I know."
"I dropped into the mass of you and I cannot find the way out... Myself in your skin, myself lodged in your bones, myself floating in the cavities that decorate every surgeon's wall. That is how I know you. You are what I know."
The Desert of Love by François Mauriac
4.0
As in certain forms of nightmare, the more she tried to approach him, the farther away she seemed to get... Tangled in her clumsy efforts at tenderness, she was, as it were, always groping her way forward with outstretched hands. But whenever she touched him it was to bruise.
It was the law of his nature that he could never make contact with those he loved. He had never been more conscious of that truth than in those moments of partial success when he had held in his arms the object so long desired, and found it suddenly poor and dwarfed and utterly different from what it had been in the agonies of his desire. No reason to seek in the mirror the reason for that solitude in which he was fated to remain until his death. Other men - his father had been one such, Raymond would be another - can follow the law of their being into old age, obedient to the demands of their vocation of love. But he, even in his youth, had been obedient only to the call of his predestined solitude.
It was the law of his nature that he could never make contact with those he loved. He had never been more conscious of that truth than in those moments of partial success when he had held in his arms the object so long desired, and found it suddenly poor and dwarfed and utterly different from what it had been in the agonies of his desire. No reason to seek in the mirror the reason for that solitude in which he was fated to remain until his death. Other men - his father had been one such, Raymond would be another - can follow the law of their being into old age, obedient to the demands of their vocation of love. But he, even in his youth, had been obedient only to the call of his predestined solitude.
Night and Day by Virginia Woolf
4.0
I don't know if I've ever related to a fictional character as much as I do to Katharine... think of that what you will.