To the Lighthouse

This is not what we want; there is nothing more tedious, puerile and inhumane than love; yet it is also beautiful and necessary.

different enough without that.

Mr Ramsay glared at them. He glared at them without seeming to see them. That did make them both vaguely uncomfortable.

story of the Fisherman and his Wife was like the bass gently accompanying a tune, which now and then ran up unexpectedly into the melody. And

love that never attempted to clutch its object; but, like the love which mathematicians bear their symbols, or poets their phrases, was meant to be spread over the world and become part of the human gain.

And the whole of the effort of merging and flowing and creating rested on her.

sort of transaction went on between them, in which she was on one side, and life was on another, and she was always trying to get the better of it, as

and into this delicious fecundity, this fountain and spray of life, the fatal sterility of the male plunged itself, like a beak of brass,

What he said was true. It was always true. He was incapable