Suburban Girl Quotes & Sayings

Consider a white ninth-grade student taking American history in a predominantly middle-class town in Vermont. Her father tapes Sheetrock, earning an income that in slow construction seasons leaves the family quite poor. Her mother helps out by driving a school bus part-time, in addition to taking care of her two younger siblings. The girl lives with her family in a small house, a winterized former summer cabin, while most of her classmates live in large suburban homes. How is this girl to understand her poverty? Since history textbooks present the American past as four hundred years of progress and portray our society as a land of opportunity in which folks get what they deserve and deserve what they get, the failures of working-class Americans to transcend their class origin inevitably get laid at their own doorsteps. — James W. Loewen

Basically, anything a sexual predator might do to woo a small suburban girl, I was trying, — Lena Dunham

Hey, man, I'm old school. Don't make me bust out the Easy-E and the N.W.A I will got straight up gangsta on your ass. No one is more hardcore than a rich, suburban white girl. — Alice Clayton

I wasn't always a demon.
My name is Maggie Frew, and I grew up a simple human girl in suburban Iowa. I don't carry a pitchfork, or have a forked tail. I'm not a creature from Hell. I'm a political campaign manager. Though, I guess some people might argue those are the same thing. — Patricia Murphy

When the windows like the jackal's eye and desire pierce the dawn, silken windlasses lift me up to suburban footbridges. I summon a girl who is dreaming in the little gilded house; she meets me on the piles of black moss and offers me her lips which are stones in the rapid river depths. Veiled forebodings descend the buildings' steps. The best thing is to flee from the great feather cylinders when the hunters limp into the sodden lands. If you take a bath in the watery patterns of the streets, childhood returns to the country like a greyhound. Man seeks his prey in the breezes and the fruits are drying on the screens of pink paper, in the shadow of the names overgrown by forgetfulness. Joys and sorrows spread in the town. Gold and eucalyptus, similarly scented, attack dreams. Among the bridles and the dark edelweiss subterranean forms are resting like perfumers' corks. — Andre Breton