Status Updates From Rumo ao Farol

“It was odd, she thought, how if one was alone, one leant to things, inanimate things; trees, streams, flowers; felt they expressed one; felt they became one; felt they knew one… There rose, and she looked and looked with her needles suspended, there curled up off the floor of the mind, rose from the lake, rose from the lake of one’s being, a mist, a bride to meet her lover.”

The second section of the book is abruptly different than the first. It illustrates the passing of time is a haunting yet profound way.

I don’t think I’ve ever resonated with a writer so much as woolf

“It was her instinct to go, an instinct like the swallows for the south, the artichokes for the sun, turning her infallibly to the human race, making her nest in its heart. And this, like all instincts, was a little distressing to people who did not share it”

“There was some quality in her which he did not much like. It was perhaps her masterfulness, her positiveness, something matter-of-fact in her. She was so direct.”

“For there are moments when one can neither think nor feel. And if one can neither think nor feel, she thought, where is one?“

“Love had a thousand shapes. There might be lovers whose gift it was to choose out the elements of things and place them together and so, giving them a wholeness not theirs in life, make of some scene, or meeting of people (all now gone and separate), one of those globed compacted things over which thought lingers, and love plays.”

IT’S GOOD

The first part of this book follows a single day. I’ve never known how much can happen in a single day until reading this. Love the characters, especially their flaws. Makes them feel so human and real.

Commute book, let’s go 🙃 At least it looks like it has chapters, unlike Mrs Dalloway.

Best summary of my thoughts so far is that I was not surprised to discover that Virginia Woolf’s Wikipedia page has separate dedicated sections for her ‘Mental Health’ and her ‘Sexuality’. I see the vision.

Getting through this super slow but I’m NOT MAD. I’ve never read anything like Virginia Woolf’s prose before and it is a beautiful, poignant, and a complete acid trip. Hoping to hit the half-way point by the end of this week?? maybe?

Beauty had this penalty—it came too readily, came too completely. It stilled life—froze it. One forgot the little agitations; the flush, the pallor, some queer distortion, some light or shadow, which made the face unrecognisable for a moment and yet added a quality one saw for ever after. It was simpler to smooth that all out under the cover of beauty.

“ The water chuckled“

Started this few days ago. Mr/Mrs Ramsey what are your deal and why are you so infuriating.

I think I’ll love it as soon as I understand what they are about:)

Vibing so far.

Someone get this man a therapist

All that in idea seemed simple became in practice immediately complex; as the waves shaped themselves symmetrically from the cliff top, but to the swimmer among them are divided by steep gulfs, and foaming crests. Still the risk must be run; the mark made.

I read this type of classic literature when I forget English is not my first language

al principio no me enganchaba mucho pero ahora esta weno, perseverancia🧘‍♀️

Slowly overcoming the book slump..

not the wordle that made me angry way back coming up in the Woolf novel
(for reference: dirge)

NOOOOOOOOOOOO “[…] his arms, though stretched out, remained empty.” shut the fuck up

“she had not said it, yet he knew.”

I literally cannot get into how much Ms. Woolf talks about arbitrary things but I do understand that she writes in a very narrative-like style so I can’t get too mad at her. I don’t know if I’ll finish it

Mr. Ramsey is quite insufferable

Estoy de viaje y poco puedo avanzar, pero me encanta.

llorando un poco y todo. así a lo tonto

5

He was like a lion seeking whom he could devour