Beatriz Miranda > Recent Status Updates

"'What does the brain matter,' said Lady Rosseter, getting up, 'compared with the heart'?
'I will come,' said Peter, but he sat on for a moment. What is this terror? what is this ecstasy? he thought to himself. What is it that fills me with extraordinary excitement?
It is Clarissa, he said.
For there she was."

CORNOOOOOOOO, MEU DEUS!!!!

"Despairing of human relationships (people were so difficult), she often went into her garden and got from her flowers a peace which men and women never gave her. But no, he did not like cabbages; he preferred human beings (...)"

"(...) now that one was mature then, (...), one could watch, one could understand, and one did not lose the power of feeling (...). She felt more deeply, more passionately, every year."

"(...) for, she admitted, she knew nothing about them, only jumped to conclusions, as one does, for what can one know even of the people one lives with every day? she asked. Are we not all prisoners? She had read a wonderful play about a man who scratched on the wall of his cell, and she had felt that was true of life – one scratched on the wall."

"For she had come to feel that it was the only thing worth saying - what one felt. Cleverness was silly. One must say simply what one felt.
'But I do not know,' said Peter Walsh, 'what I feel' (...)
He had not found life simple (...). His relations with Clarissa had not been simple. It had spoilt his life (...). One could not be in love twice, he said. And what could she say? Still, it is better to have loved (...)"

"And she didn't know their names, but friends she knew they were, friends without names, songs without words, always the best. But there were so many doors, such unexpected places, she could not find her way."

conseguia acabá-lo agora na boa mas dps teria de fazer review rushed e cansada e n quero,, apenas acrescento que os últimos 3 números de notas que apareceram no texto não têm a actual nota no fim loool

ainda não foi hoje que te acabei... (diz ela, com desdém)

"It was extraordinary how Peter put her into these states just by coming and standing in a corner. He made her see herself; exaggerate. It was idiotic. But why did he come, then, merely to criticise? Why always take, never give? Why not risk one's one little point of view? There he was wandering off, and she must speak to him. But she would not get the chance. Life was that humiliation, renunciation."

"Brief, broken, often painful as their actual meetings had been, (...) the effect on his life was immeasurable. (...) You were given a sharp, acute, uncomfortable grain – the actual meeting; horribly painful as often as not; yet in absence, in the most unlikely places, it would flower out, open, shed its scent, let u touch, taste, look about you, get the whole feel of it and understanding, after years of lying lost."

"It was to explain the feeling they had of dissatisfaction; not knowing people; not being known. For how could they know each other? You met every day; then not for six months, or years. It was unsatisfactory, they agreed, how little one knew people. (...) she felt herself everywhere; not 'here, here, here' (...). So that to know her, or any one, one must seek out the people who completed them; even the places.(...)"

"(...) it is the privilege of loneliness; in privacy one may do as one chooses. One might weep if no one saw. (...) Partly for that reason, its secrecy, complete and inviolable, he had found life like an unknown garden, full of turns and corners, surprising, yes; really it took one's breath away, these moments; (...)"

"But which should she get on to? She had no preferences. Ofc, she would not push her way. She inclined to be passive. (...) What could she be thinking? Every man fell in love with her, and she was rly awfully bored."

"And did E. give one thought to poor Miss K. who loved her without jealousy, to whom she had been a fawn in the open, a moon in a glade? She was delighted to be free. The fresh air was so delicious. "

"The agony was so terrific. If she could grasp her, if she could clasp her, if she could make her hers absolutely and for ever and then die: that was all she wanted."

"(...) to aspire above the vanities, the desires, the commodities, to rid herself both of hatred and of love. Her hands twitched. She seemed to struggle. Yet to others God was accessible and the path to Him smooth."

"But to go deeper beneath what people said (and these judgements, how superficial, how fragmentary they are!) in her own mind now, what did it mean to her, this thing she called life? Oh, it was very queer."

"She pitied and despised them from the bottom of her heart (...). With all this luxury going on, what hope was there for a better state of things?"

"She could never forget his kindness – he had been really remarkably kind – she forgot precisely upon what occasion. But he had been – remarkably kind. Anyhow the difference between one man and another does not amount to much."

"(...) on a tub she stands preaching; shrouds herself in white and walks penientially disguised as brotherly love through factories and parliaments; offers help, but desires power; smites out of her way roughly the dissentient, or dissatisfied; bestows her blessing on those who, looking upward, catch submissively from her eyes the light of their own."

"In short, this living or not living is an affair of our own?"

"So he was deserted. The whole world was clamouring: Kill yourself, kill yourself, for our sakes. But why should he kill himself for their sakes? Food was pleasant; the sun hot; and this killing oneself, how does one set about it, with a table knife, uglily, with floods of blood, – by sucking a gaspipe? He was too weak; he could scarcely raise his hand (...)"

"(...) his brain was perfect; it must be the fault of the world then – that he could not feel." -- almond flashback

"(...) it might be possible that the world itself is without meaning."--- the devil, probably flashback

"For the truth is (let her ignore it) that human beings have neither kindness, nor faith, nor charity beyond what serves to increase the pleasure of the moment. (...) They desert the fallen."

"No, no, no! He was not in love with her any more! He only felt, after seeing her that morning among her scissors and skills (...), unable to get away from the thought of her; she kept coming back and back (...); which was not being in love, of course; it was thinking of her, criticising her, starting again, after thirty years, trying to explain her."

hoje vi o filme Gia e agora leio isto--- im not okay

"I leant over the edge of the boat and fell down, he thought. I went under the sea. I have been dead, and yet am now alive, but let me rest still, he begged (he was talking to himself again – it was awful, awful!)."

"(...) all of this, calm and reasonable as it was, made out of ordinary things as it was, was the truth now; beauty, that was the truth now. Beauty was everywhere."

"And he couldn't see her; couldn't explain to her; couldn't have it out. There were always people about – she'd go on as if nothing had happened. That was the devilish part of her – this coldness, this woodenness, something very profound in her, which he had felt again this morning talking to her; an impenetrability. Yet Heaven knows he loved her. She had some queer power of fiddling one's nerves, (...), yes."

"And the doctors and men of business and capable women all going about their business, punctual, alert, robust, seemed to him wholly admirable, good fellows, to whom one would entrust one's life, companions in the art of living, who would see one through."

"As a cloud crosses the sun, silence falls on London; and falls on the mind. Effort ceases. Time flaps on the mast. There we stop; there we stand. Rigid, the skeleton of habit alone upholds the human frame. Where there is nothing, Peter Walsh said to himself: feeling hollowed out, utterly empty within."