Virginia Woolf

By hook or by crook, I hope that you will possess yourselves of money enough to travel and to idle, to contemplate the future or the past of the world, to dream over books and loiter at street corners and let the line of thought dip deep into the stream.

But he would not go mad. He would shut his eyes; he would see no more.

only the sensations of such an explorer into the buried vaults of a ruined city can compare with the riot of emotions that flooded Flush's nerves as he stood for the first time in an invalid's bedroom,

came to prefer the silence of the cat to the robustness of the dog; and human sympathy to either.

The human nose is practically non-existent. The greatest poets in the world have smelt nothing but roses on the one hand, and dung on the other. The infinite gradations that lie between are unrecorded. Yet it was in the world of smell that Flush mostly lived.

He held her hand. Happiness is this, he thought

For in marriage a little licence, a little independence there must be between people living together day in day out in the same house

Think, for example, of the woman she admired most, Lady Bexborough, opening the bazaar.

Sally's, of course—but very soon she was just as excited—read Plato in bed before breakfast; read Morris; read Shelley

His wife was crying, and he felt nothing; only each time she sobbed in this profound, this silent, this hopeless way, he descended another step into the pit.