For now she need not think about anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of — to think; well, not even to think. To be silent; to be alone. All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others. (Virginia Woolfe, To the Lighthouse, p 70)
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I’m co-organising a preconfernece workshop for AoIR2022 in Dublin today with Annette Markham and MaryElizabeth Luka today, and I’m going to show a few of the ways I’ve engaged with new digital platforms and genres over the years. This is a key […]
4 thoughts on “be”
My favorite writer.
“Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself”.
Yes, her words are eternal and remarkably wise.
They often feel like consolation in a confused world. (It’s sad she never found her own peace, though).
She is one of my favourite writers too!
If it’s in your Uni library, you might find Australian John Maze’s book on her interesting.