Nevertheless, life is pleasant, life is tolerable. Tuesday follows Monday; then comes Wednesday. The mind grows rings; the identity becomes robust; pain is absorbed in growth. Opening and shutting, shutting and opening, with increasing hum and sturdiness, the haste and fever of youth are drawn into service until the whole being seems to expand in and out like the mainspring of a clock. How fast the stream flows from January to December! We are swept on by the torrent of things grown so familiar that they cast no shadow. We float, we float…
Virginia Woolf, The Waves (via violentwavesofemotion)
You’re spending your life, talking, writing things, getting bills through, missing what seems natural. Still, there’s the mind of the widow — the affections; those you leave untouched. But you waste you own. I would point out that a human being is not a set of compartments, but an organism. Imagination, Miss; use your imagination; that’s where you fail. Conceive the world as a whole.
Virginia Woolf, The Voyage Out.
Life passes. The clouds change perpetually over our houses. I do this, do that, and again do this and then that. Meeting and parting, we assemble different forms, make different patterns. But if I do not nail these impressions to the board and out of the many men in me make one; exist here and now and not in streaks and patches, like scattered snow wreaths on far mountains; then I shall fall like snow and be wasted.
Virginia Woolf,The Waves.