To the Lighthouse

that any other eyes should see the residue of her thirty-three years, the deposit of each day’s living,

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

When life sank down for a moment, the range of experience seemed limitless.

was their relation, and his coming to her like that, openly, so that anyone could see, that discomposed her; for then people said he depended on her,

The very stone one kicks with one’s boot will outlast Shakespeare.

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

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.

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

she pitied men always as if they lacked something – women never, as if they had something.