Never will I wake those echoes, never will I ask for that hospitality again, I vowed as I descended the steps in anger. Still an hour remained before luncheon, and what was one to do?
Knitting her reddish-brown hairy stocking, with her head outlined absurdly by the gilt frame, the green shawl which she had tossed over the edge of the frame, and the authenticated masterpiece by Michael Angelo, Mrs. Ramsay smoothed out what had been harsh in her manner a moment before, raised his head, and kissed her little boy on the forehead. “Let us find another picture to cut out,” she said.
What one wants in the person one lives with is that they should keep one at one’s best.
Southampton Row, however, is chiefly remarkable nowadays for the fact that you will always find a man there trying to sell a tortoise to a tailor.
Children never forget injustice. They forgive heaps of things grown-up people mind; but that sin is the unpardonable sin.
He became engaged one evening when the panic was on him – that he could not feel.
But something is always impelling one to hum vibrating, like the hawk moth, at the mouth of the cavern of mystery.
Choked by the wind their spirits rose with a rush, for on the skirts of all the grey tumult was a misty spot of gold. Instantly the world dropped into shape; they were no longer atoms flying in the void, but people riding a triumphant ship on the back of the sea. Wind and space were banished; the world floated like an apple in a tub, and the mind of man, which had been unmoored also, once more attached itself to the old beliefs.
I use my friends rather as giglamps : There’s another field I see: by your light. Over there’s a hill. I widen my landscape.
He was to be the son of her old age; the limb of her infirmity; the oak tree on which she leant her degradation.
Desejei dilatar a noite para a encher de sonhos.
If this is love,” said Orlando to herself, looking at the Archduke on the other side of the fender, and now from the woman’s point of view, “there is something highly ridiculous about it.
What then? Who then?′ she said. ‘Thirty-six; in a motor car; a woman. Yes, but a million other things as well.
Because it is a thousand pities never to say what one feels, he thought...
One must strain off what was personal and accidental in all these impressions and so reach the pure fluid, the essential oil of truth.
The entire gamut of the view’s changes should have been known to her; its winter aspect, spring, summer and autumn; how storms came up from the sea; how the moors shuddered and brightened as the clouds went over.
What sort of diary should I like mine to be? Something loose knit and yet not slovenly, so elastic that it will embrace any thing, solemn, slight or beautiful that comes into my mind. I should like it to resemble some deep old desk, or capacious hold-all, in which one flings a mass of odds and ends without looking them through.
There is no mark on the wall to measure the precise height of women. There are no yard measures neatly divided into the fractions of an inch that one can lay against the qualities of a good mother or the devotion of a daughter or fidelity of a sister or the capacity of a housekeeper.
The earth hangs heavy beneath me.
One of these days d’you think you’ll be able to see things at the end of the telephone?” Peggy said, getting up.