Virginia Woolf

Mrs Dalloway

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"A married woman, unfortunately," he said; "the wife of a Major in the Indian Army."
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For it was not her one hated but the idea of her
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that was only her dear Peter at his worst;
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"a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction".
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How heavenly it is to see you again!" she exclaimed.
Ashel Sibyцитуєучора
coat. Year in year out she wore that coat; she perspired; she was never in the room five minutes without making you feel her superiority, your inferiority; how poor she was; how rich you were; how she lived in a slum without a cushion or a bed or a rug or whatever it might be, all her soul rusted with that grievance sticking in it, her dismissal from school during the War—poor embittered unfortunate creature! For it was not her one hated but the idea of her, which undoubtedly had gathered in to itself a great deal that was not Miss Kilman; had become one of those spectres with which one battles in the night; one of those spectres who stand astride us and suck up half our life-blood, dominators and tyrants; for no doubt with another throw of the dice, had the black been uppermost and not the white, she would have loved Miss Kilman! But not in this world. No.
Ashel Sibyцитуєучора
And her old Uncle William used to say a lady is known by her shoes and her gloves
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The sun became extraordinarily hot because the motor car had stopped outside Mulberry's shop window
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Miss Pym, whose hands were always bright red, as if they had been stood in cold water with the flowers.
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never to be content quite, or quite secure, for at any moment the brute would be stirring, this hatred, which, especially since her illness, had power to make her feel scraped, hurt in her spine; gave her physical pain, and made all pleasure in beauty, in friendship, in being well, in being loved and making her home delightful rock, quiver, and bend as if indeed there were a monster grubbing at the roots, as if the whole panoply of content were nothing but self love! this hatred!
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But often now this body she wore (she stopped to look at a Dutch picture), this body, with all its capacities, seemed nothing—nothing at all. She had the oddest sense of being herself invisible; unseen; unknown; there being no more marrying, no more having of children now, but only this astonishing and rather solemn progress with the rest of them, up Bond Street, this being Mrs. Dalloway; not even Clarissa any more; this being Mrs. Richard Dalloway.
boydцитуєминулого місяця
In people's eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.
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Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself
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Oh if she could have had her life over again
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He had not said "I love you"; but he held her hand. Happiness is this, is this, he thought.
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That was his old trick, opening a pocket-knife,
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he felt glad that he had done it; thrown it away. The clock was striking. The leaden circles dissolved in the air. He made her feel the beauty
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The young man had killed himself; but she did not pity him; with the clock striking the hour, one, two, three, she did not pity him, with all this going on
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he looked. Oh, but how surprising!—in the room opposite the old lady stared straight at her! She was going to bed
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She had schemed; she had pilfered. She was never wholly admirable. She had wanted success.
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