To the Lighthouse

pursue truth with such astonishing

boasting of her capacity to surround and protect, there was scarcely a shell of herself left for her to know herself by; all was so lavished and spent;

until he had turned the whole thing round and made it somehow reflect himself and disparage them, put them all on edge somehow with his acid way of peeling the flesh and blood off everything, he was not satisfied.

would like her to see him, gowned and hooded, walking in a procession.

Could loving, as people called it, make her and Mrs Ramsay one?

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.

the progress of civilisation depend upon great men?

Mr Ramsay excited in his children’s breasts by his mere presence;

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