Mrs. Dalloway

by Virginia Woolf

For in marriage a little licence, a little independence there must be between people living together day in day out in the same house;

did it matter that she must inevitably cease completely; all this must go on without her; did she resent it; or did it not become consoling to believe that death ended absolutely?

She put on her lace collar. She put on her new hat and he never noticed; and he was happy without her. Nothing could make her happy without him! Nothing! He was selfish. So men are.

But nothing is so strange when one is in love (and what was this except being in love?) as the complete indifference of other people.

Still, the sun was hot. Still, one got over things. Still, life had a way of adding day to day.

“He’s read nothing, thought nothing, felt nothing,”

One cannot bring children into a world like this. One cannot perpetuate suffering, or increase the breed of these lustful animals, who have no lasting emotions, but only whims and vanities, eddying them now this way, now that.