Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

"So on a summer’s day waves collect, overbalance, and fall; collect and fall; and the whole world seems to be saying ‘that is all’ more and more ponderously, until even the heart in the body which lies in the sun on the beach says too, That is all. Fear no more, says the heart. Fear no more, says the heart, committing its burden to some sea, which sighs collectively for all sorrows, and renews, begins, collects, lets fall. And the body alone listens to the passing bee; the wave breaking; the dog barking, far away barking and barking."

"[...]was overcome with his own grief, which rose like a moon looked at from a terrace, ghastly beautiful with light from the sunken day."

Transferring feelings into the environment.

"I was more unhappy than I’ve ever been since, he thought. And as if in truth he were sitting there on the terrace he edged a little towards Clarissa; put his hand out; raised it; let it fall. There above them it hung, that moon. She too seemed to be sitting with him on the terrace, in the moonlight."

Incorporating her into the scene of his feelings.

"It is half-past eleven, she says, and the sound of St. Margaret’s glides into the recesses of the heart and buries itself in ring after ring of sound, like something alive which wants to confide itself, to disperse itself, to be, with a tremor of delight, at rest."

"And why had he been so profoundly happy when the clock was striking? Then, as the sound of St. Margaret’s languished, he thought, She has been ill, and the sound expressed languor and suffering. It was her heart, he remembered; and the sudden loudness of the final stroke tolled for death that surprised in the midst of life, Clarissa falling where she stood, in her drawing-room. No! No! he cried. She is not dead! I am not old, he cried, and marched up Whitehall, as if there rolled down to him, vigorous, unending, his future."

She's dead inside. humorous.

"And it was smashed to atoms — his fun, for it was half made up, as he knew very well; invented, this escapade with the girl; made up, as one makes up the better part of life, he thought — making oneself up; making her up; creating an exquisite amusement, and something more. But odd it was, and quite true; all this one could never share — it smashed to atoms."

A whole lifetime was too short to bring out, now that one had acquired the power, the full flavour; to extract every ounce of pleasure, every shade of meaning; which both were so much more solid than they used to be, so much less personal.

"[...] and she no longer saw, when she implored him (as she did now quite clearly) ‘look in my eyes with thy sweet eyes intently,’ she no longer saw brown eyes, black whiskers or sunburnt face, but only a looming shape, a shadow shape, to which, with the bird-like freshness of the very aged, she still twittered ‘give me your hand and let me press it gently’ (Peter Walsh couldn’t help giving the poor creature a coin as he stepped into his taxi), ‘and if some one should see, what matter they?’ she demanded; and her fist clutched at her side, and she smiled, pocketing her shilling, and all peering inquisitive eyes seemed blotted out, and the passing generations — the pavement was crowded with bustling middle-class people — vanished, like leaves, to be trodden under, to be soaked and steeped and made mould of by that eternal spring — ee um fah um so foo swee too eem oo."

Everything fades into the earth.

"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."

crude

"But even Holmes himself could not touch this last relic straying on the edge of the world, this outcast, who gazed back at the inhabited regions, who lay, like a drowned sailor, on the shore of the world."

What she liked was simply life.
‘That’s what I do it for,’ she said, speaking aloud, to life.

Sense of romantic optimism.

"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 quite 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."

She loved to bring people together.

"You were given a sharp, acute, uncomfortable grain — the actual meeting; horribly painful as often as not; yet in absence, in the most unlikely places, it would flower out, open, shed its scent, let you touch, taste, look about you, get the whole feel of it and understanding, after years of lying lost."

"Absorbing, mysterious, of infinite richness, this life."

"It was extraordinary how Peter put her into these states just by coming and standing in a corner. He made her see herself; exaggerate. It was idiotic."

"Every time she gave a party she had this feeling of being something not herself, and that every one was unreal in one way; much more real in another."

"Somehow it was her disaster — her disgrace. It was her punishment to see sink and disappear here a man, there a woman, in this profound darkness, and she forced to stand here in her evening dress. She had schemed; she had pilfered."

Why does she take it to heart so?

"She was going to bed, in the room opposite. It was fascinating to watch her, moving about, that old lady, crossing the room, coming to the window. Could she see her? It was fascinating, with people still laughing and shouting in the drawing-room, to watch that old woman, quite quietly, going to bed alone."

"She felt somehow very like him — the young man who had killed himself. She felt glad that he had done it; thrown it away while they went on living."

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I was pretty much forced to read this book due to the film The Hours. I wanted to understand the movie, and I've come to realize that one doesn't really understand the movie until one reads Mrs. Dalloway. Throughout the whole book I was imagining the characters portrayed in the movie, and how each one fits in Virginia Woolf's story.
But really, one needs to read the book. This beautiful charm of Virginia is really not portrayed in the movie. She is so witty and humorous in the writing, even if she writes about very dramatic things like suicide- she adds a certain graceful lightness to it. It's wonderful to read. Actually, this novel of her showed me her true voice the most. Sarcasm coupled with empathy is actually very refreshing. She seems to really understand every single one of her characters. Even Mrs. Dalloway. I mean, she understands that Richard wasn't her love, and that she spent her life regretting her mistake, and yet at the same time to look with hope towards the future. This character is extremely interesting because she is not superficial, although she may seem so. Even Peter thinks that in some ways she is superficial. But no, I think she is much more complex than what people see. I think that she naively, although proven wrong again and again, believes in the goodness of human nature. That is why she gives parties, to enjoy this marvelous interaction between people she knows. She wants everyone else to share in her riches, and thinks that everyone can benefit. She just wants to share her wealth. I love the way she was watching the old woman in the middle of the party. This doesn't show that she's unhappy, not necessarily- but she enjoys the small things in life, the simple things. She doesn't forget about the simple things. And I think that is essential to her character, because it makes her such a deep person. She understands suffering, like the suicide's suffering, but also understands that life is exciting and fresh- and she desperately wants to enjoy that.
Although, why does she take her parties so seriously? That is my question. Why does she focus on them so much? Maybe she is putting such a stress on herself, and the whole superficiallity of the world is trying to take over her. Because even though one has good intentions, that doesn't mean that the superficiallity of others won't affect her. And maybe she sees this. Peter is a marvelous contrast to her. Because he resembles what she really is at heart. She IS this deep thinker that just really wants to enjoy life. Interestingly enough, she wants to use this joy of life in a social setting- which is really hard to do, since society usually standardizes everything, and kills anything that is original and fresh.

I think that Mrs. Dalloway wants to return to the person she really is, the young girl that spent that day with Peter:
"She put on her hat, and ran through cornfields -where could it have been? — on to some hill, somewhere near the sea, for there were ships, gulls, butterflies; they sat on a cliff. In London, too, there they sat, and, half dreaming, came to her through the bedroom door, rain falling, whisperings, stirrings among dry corn, the caress of the sea, as it seemed to her, hollowing them in its arched shell and murmuring to her laid on shore, strewn she felt, like flying flowers over some tomb."
She spent her whole life longing for that moment of freedom, and yet trying to put up with society's constrains. We see this marvelous contrast between what she was, wild and free, and what she is now, trying to make the best of the cage she was trapped in.

Most of all, I loved the way Virginia flowed from one story to another- I thought that was absolutely superb, and so enjoyable to read. She connected every character to each other, which is so true- this human universality. Her exploration of time, and the way it gently rocked back and forth, past and present, is outstanding.

Although, I didn't pick up on the lesbiaonic (apparently not a word) allusion. So sorry to have missed that, but I usually don't pick up on subtle things like that. Maybe because it's more modern than what I'm used to.

Published by Everyman's Library (Knopff Book)