Status Updates From Passeio ao Farol

I’m really enjoying the conflict of Mrs Ramsay’s character, especially through the eyes of different people. Although, this book seems to spam metaphors every two sentences of something so little

for she could not shake herself free from the sense that everything this morning was happening for the first time, perhaps for the last time, as a traveler, even though he is half asleep, knows, looking out of the train window, that he must look now, for he will never see that town, or that mule-cart, or that woman and work in the fields, again.

The physical sensations that went with the bare look of the steps had become suddenly extremely unpleasant. To want and not to have, sent all up her body a hardness, a hollowness, a strain.

she wanted to say not one thing, but everything. Little words that broke up the thought and dismembered it said nothing. "about life, about death; about Mrs. Ramsay" - no, she thought, one could say nothing to nobody. The urgency of the moment always missed its mark. Words fluttered sideways and struck the object inches too low.

it was to be a thing you could ruffle with your breath; and a thing you could not dislodge with a team of horses.

beauty had this penalty - it came to readily, came to completely. It stilled life- froze it.

No, the other was also the Lighthouse. For nothing was simply one thing.

His immense self-pity, his demand for sympathy poured and spread itself in pools at her feet, and all she did, miserable sinner that she was, was draw her skirts a little closer round her ankles, lest she should get wet.

But what a power was in the human soul! that women sitting there writing under the rock resolved everything into simplicity