Virginia Woolf: Frasi in inglese (pagina 7)
Virginia Woolf era scrittrice, saggista e attivista britannica. Frasi in inglese.“Was not writing poetry a secret transaction, a voice answering a voice?”
Origine: Orlando
“Friendships, even the best of them, are frail things. One drifts apart.”
Origine: To the Lighthouse
“… she always had the feeling that it was very, very dangerous to live even one day.”
Origine: Mrs. Dalloway
“For books continue each other, in spite of our habit of judging them separately.”
Origine: A Room of One's Own and Three Guineas
“I was always going to the bookcase for another sip of the divine specific.”
Origine: The Waves
“It was a silly, silly dream, being unhappy.”
Origine: Mrs. Dalloway
“The world wavered and quivered and threatened to burst into flames.”
Origine: Mrs. Dalloway
“It is no use trying to sum people up.”
Origine: Jacob's Room
“When the body escaped mutilation, seldom did the heart go to the grave unscarred.”
Origine: Jacob's Room
Origine: Orlando: A Biography (1928), Ch. 3
Contesto: No passion is stronger in the breast of man than the desire to make others believe as he believes. Nothing so cuts at the root of his happiness and fills him with rage as the sense that another rates low what he prizes high. Whigs and Tories, Liberal party and Labour party — for what do they battle except their own prestige?
Mrs Dalloway (1925)
Origine: Mrs. Dalloway
Contesto: But to go deeper, beneath what people said (and these judgements, how superficial, how fragmentary they are!) in her own mind now, what did it mean to her, this thing she called life? Oh, it was very queer. Here was So-and-so in South Kensington; some one up in Bayswater; and somebody else, say, in Mayfair. And she felt quiet continuously a sense of their existence and she felt what a waste; and she felt what a pity; and she felt if only they could be brought together; so she did it. And it was an offering; to combine, to create; but to whom?
An offering for the sake of offering, perhaps. Anyhow, it was her gift. Nothing else had she of the slightest importance; could not think, write, even play the piano. She muddled Armenians and Turks; loved success; hated discomfort; must be liked; talked oceans of nonsense: and to this day, ask her what the Equator was, and she did not know.
All the same, that one day should follow another; Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday; that one should wake up in the morning; see the sky; walk in the park; meet Hugh Whitbread; then suddenly in came Peter; then these roses; it was enough. After that, how unbelievable death was! — that it must end; and no one in the whole world would know how she had loved it all.