- 页码：第60页 2013-04-27 15:27:44
This is one of the most singular experiences, waking on what feels like a good day, preparing to work but not yet actually embarked. At this moment there are infinite possibilities, whole hours ahead. He is the opposite kind of egotist, driven by grandiosity rather than greed, and if he insists on a version of you that is funnier, stranger, more eccentric and profound than you suspect yourself to be--capable of doing more good and more harm in the world than you've ever imagined. .... It is only after knowing him for some time that you begin to realize you are, to him, an essentially fictional character, one he has invested with nearly limitless capacities for tragedy and comedy not because that is your true nature but because he, richard, needs to live in a world peopled by extreme and commanding figures. one always has a better book in one's mind than one can manage to get onto paper. How does she remember, how does she manage, every day and every hour, to be so exactly the same? In school she was one of several authoritative, aggressive, not quite beautiful girls so potent in their money and their athletic confidence they simply stood where they stood and insisted that the local notion of desirability be reconfigured to include them. Someone else will die. I t should be a greater mind than clarissa's; it should be someone with sorrow and genius enough to turn away from the seductions of the world, its cups and its coats. If you shout loud enough, for long enough,a crowd will gather to see what all the noise is about. It's the nature of crowds. They don't stay long, unless you give them reason. You're just as bad as most men,just that agressive, just that self-aggrandizing, and your hour will come and go. What a lark! what a plunge! Mrs. Dalloway, she thinks, is a house on a hill where a party is about to begin; death is the city below, which mrs dalloway loves and fears and which she wants, in some way, to walk into so deeply she will never find her way back again. What she wants to say has to do with all the people who've died; it has to do with her own feelings of enormous good fortune and imminent, devastating loss. if anything happens to clarissa she, sally, will go on living but she will not, exactly, survive. She will not be all right. what she wants to say has to do not only with joy but with the penetrating, constant fear that is joy's other half. she can bear the thought of her own death but cannot bear the thought of clarissa's. this love of theirs, with its reassuring domesticity and its easy silences, its permanence, has yoked sally directly to the machinery of mortality itself. Doriving to mars latch's house, she is fully of what she's read. Although the air is filled only with the ordinary daylight that enters any tenement apartment on a sunny afternoon, it seems, in richard's rooms, like a silent explosion. It will serve as this afternoon's manifestation of the central mystery itself, the elusive brightness that shines from the edges of certain dreams; the brightness which when we awaken,is already fading from our minds, and which we rise in the hope of finding, perhaps today, this new day in which anything might happen,anything at all. Yes, she thinks, this is probably how it must feel to be a ghost. It's a little like reading, isn't it-- that same sensation of knowing people, settings, situations, without playing any particular part beyond that of the willing observer. Maybe, she thinks, one could begin dying into this: the ministrations of a grown daughter, the comforts of a room. Here, then is age. Here are the little consolations, the lamp and the book. Here is the world, increasingly managed by people who are not you' who will do eithere well or badly; who do not look at you when they pass you int the street.
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I dig out beautiful caves behind my characters; I think htat gives exactly what i want;...
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