She felt as if things were moving past her as she lay stretched on the bed under the single sheet. But it’s not landscape any longer, she thought; it’s people’s lives, their changing lives.
Virginia WoolfAbout author
- Author's profession: Author, Composer, Writer
- Nationality: british
- Born: January 25, 1882
- Died: March 28, 1941
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I dance with people I despise; amuse myself with men whose only talent lies in their feet, gain the disapprobation of people I honor and respect; return home at day break with my brain in a state which was never intended for it; and arise in the middle of the next day feeling infinitely more, in spirit and flesh like a Liliputian, than a woman with body and soul. Entry (when she was eighteen) in her Commonplace Book, 1868-1869.
Kate Chopin
She kept to herself. Most afternoons I caught a glimpse of her in the shadows of B deck, in a deck chair. She always had in her possession a copy of The Magic Mountain, but no one ever saw her reading it. Miss Lasqueti consumed mostly crime thrillers, which constantly seemed to disappoint her. I suspect that for her the world was more accidental than any book's plot. Twice I saw her so irritated by a mystery that she half rose from the shadow of her chair and flung the paperback over the...
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I am not involved in any 'issues' because it's too sensitive for me - or my wife - to get involved. Every time we express an opinion it becomes a whole thing in itself. And the whole purpose of living in the countryside was to get away from hundreds of people. My wife fell off a horse, and suddenly there are hundreds of people around.
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Yeah', said Fats. 'Fucking and dying. That's it, innit? Fucking and dying. That's life.''Trying to get a fuck and trying not to die.''Or trying to die', said Fats. 'Some people. Risking it.''Yeah, Risking it.'[...]'Ans music', said Andrew quietly, watching the blue smoke hanging beneath the dark rock. 'Yeah', said Fats, in the distance. 'And music.
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