Mrs. Dalloway

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  天生命背 (打回原形)

  Virginia Woolf’s provocative statement about her intentions in writing Mrs. Dalloway has regularly been ignored by the critics, since it highlights an aspect of her literary interests very different from the traditional picture of the “poetic” novelist concerned with examining states of reverie and vision and with following the intricate pathways of individual consciousness. (更多)

  Virginia Woolf’s provocative statement about her intentions in writing Mrs. Dalloway has regularly been ignored by the critics, since it highlights an aspect of her literary interests very different from the traditional picture of the “poetic” novelist concerned with examining states of reverie and vision and with following the intricate pathways of individual consciousness. (收起)

  2011-08-03 10:31:17   1人收藏   回应

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  第78页

  Lynn

  She looked pale, mysterious, like a lily, drowned, under water, he thought (更多)

  She looked pale, mysterious, like a lily, drowned, under water, he thought

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  2011-09-01 21:39:12   回应

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  第77页

  Lynn

  it might be possible that the world itself is without meaning (更多)

  it might be possible that the world itself is without meaning

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  2011-09-01 21:38:35   回应

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  [已注销]

  Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself. 爷就是记录一下这句开篇的话。谁叫妮可老叨咕这句么。 (更多)

  Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.

  爷就是记录一下这句开篇的话。谁叫妮可老叨咕这句么。 (收起)

  2011-04-06 19:47:34   2回应

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  第1页

  天生命背 (打回原形)

  Virginia Woolf’s provocative statement about her intentions in writing Mrs. Dalloway has regularly been ignored by the critics, since it highlights an aspect of her literary interests very different from the traditional picture of the “poetic” novelist concerned with examining states of reverie and vision and with following the intricate pathways of individual consciousness. (更多)

  Virginia Woolf’s provocative statement about her intentions in writing Mrs. Dalloway has regularly been ignored by the critics, since it highlights an aspect of her literary interests very different from the traditional picture of the “poetic” novelist concerned with examining states of reverie and vision and with following the intricate pathways of individual consciousness. (收起)

  2011-08-03 10:31:17   1人收藏   回应

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  第5页

  Lynn

  If he were with me now what would he say? - some days, some sights bringing him back to her calmly, without the old bitterness; which perhaps was the reward of having cared people; they came back in the middle of St. James's Park on a fine morning - indeed they did. But Peter - however beautiful the day might be, and the trees and the grass, and the little girl in pink - Peer never saw a thing of ... (更多)

  If he were with me now what would he say? - some days, some sights bringing him back to her calmly, without the old bitterness; which perhaps was the reward of having cared people; they came back in the middle of St. James's Park on a fine morning - indeed they did. But Peter - however beautiful the day might be, and the trees and the grass, and the little girl in pink - Peer never saw a thing of all that. (收起)

  2011-08-22 17:04:57   回应

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  第78页

  Lynn

  She looked pale, mysterious, like a lily, drowned, under water, he thought (更多)

  She looked pale, mysterious, like a lily, drowned, under water, he thought

  (收起)

  2011-09-01 21:39:12   回应

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• 

  第77页

  Lynn

  it might be possible that the world itself is without meaning (更多)

  it might be possible that the world itself is without meaning

  (收起)

  2011-09-01 21:38:35   回应

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  第71页

  Lynn

  Still remembering how once in some primeval May she had walked with her lover, this rusty pump, this battered old woman with one hand exposed for coppers, the other clutching her side, would still be there in ten million years, remembering how once she had walked in May, where the sea flows now, with whom it did not matter - he was a man, oh yes, a man who had loved her. But the passage of ages ha... (更多)

  Still remembering how once in some primeval May she had walked with her lover, this rusty pump, this battered old woman with one hand exposed for coppers, the other clutching her side, would still be there in ten million years, remembering how once she had walked in May, where the sea flows now, with whom it did not matter - he was a man, oh yes, a man who had loved her. But the passage of ages had burred the clarity of that ancient May day; the bright petalled flowers were hoar and silver frosted; and she no longer saw, when she implored him (as she did now quite clearly) "look in my eyes with thy sweet eyes intently," she no longer saw brown eyes, black whiskers or sunburnt face, but only a looming shape, a shadow shape, to which, with the bird-like freshness of the very aged, she still twittered "give me your hand and let me press it gently" (Peter Walsh couldn't help giving the poor creature a coin as he stepped into his taxi), "and if some one should see, what matter they?" she demanded; and her fist clutched at her side, and she smiled, pocketing her shilling, and all peering inquisitive eyes seemed blotted out, and the passing generations - the pavement was crowded with bustling middle-class people - vanished, like leaves, to be trodden under, to be soaked and steeped and made mould of by eternal spring - ee um fah um so foo swee too eem oo.

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  2011-09-01 21:03:19   回应

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