Beatriz Miranda’s Reviews > Mrs Dalloway > Status Update

"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."

"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."

queria só dizer que hoje vi the hours e fui destruída... anyway,,,

"He was in love! Not with her. With some younger woman, of course."

"She looked at Peter Walsh; her look, passing through all that time and that emotion, reached him doubtfully; settled on him tearfully; and rose and fluttered away, as a bird touches a branch and rises and flutters away. Quite simply she wiped her eyes."

"For she was a child, throwing bread to the ducks, between her parents, and at the same time a grown woman coming to her parents who stood by the lake, holding her life in her arms which, as she neared them, grew larger and larger in her arms, until it became a whole life, a complete life, which she put down by them and said, 'This is what I have made of it! This!' And what had she made of it? What, indeed? (...)"