Mrs dalloway quotes and analysis

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Mrs dalloway quotes and analysis

LitCharts assigns a color and icon to each theme in Mrs Dalloway, which you can use to track the themes throughout the work. Privacy, Loneliness, and Communication Psychology and Perception In this section of our blog, we are going to analyse the paired texts, Mrs Dalloway and The Hours. Let's get into it.Delving into context and values:In Mrs Dalloway, the notion of female oppression is seen through the dissatisfaction ofwomen in their stereotypical roles as housewives due to the lack of development during thepost-war era. Woolf thus critiques the conservatism of the traditional Victorian views ofwomen and instead explores their changing roles and the struggles for women's rights andequalities within the time period.In a similar manner, The Hours represents a shift in the time period and portrays the valuesin similar concepts such as the psychological struggle and restriction of females within amore contemporary era. Daldry makes it clear in his film that individuals are still trying tofind liberty and autonomy, and even when some do, there are still negative ramificationswhich diminish the sense of progression.It is important to make sure your thesis and argument synthesizes the relationship betweenthese two texts and contexts and how they are both represented, as this is what the moduleis all about. You should include why these composers have written their texts and how theychoose to use characters etc. to show these issues. You must also include how these textscome together and how despite the shift in contexts, the represented values and attitudesare still present in similar ways.Example/Analysis/Techniques:Restrictions of the Roles of WomenMrs Dalloway:Woolf's innovative stream-of- consciousness style challenges female oppression by allowingreaders insight into the restriction women such as Clarissa. She exposes how `there was anemptiness about the heart of life...the sheets were clean, tight stretched...narrower andnarrower would her bed be', the metaphorical depiction of her life illustrating marriage asan unfulfilling mechanism for women within the patriarchy. Through this we can see that Woolf is attempting to challenge the societal norm in 1920s England, where the expectation for women was to marry and have children, and thus demonstrates how women are discontent with their confined positions.The Hours:Daldry similarly continues the notion of female restriction through the character of ClarissaVaughn, who is portrayed with vastly more opportunities and independence. However, sheis placed right back in the kitchen "where women belong". In the stereotypical housewife,with costuming of a floral apron and rubber gloves, Clarissa sinks to the floor in a darkcorner, distancing her and Louis - a privileged male. The lingering shot and slow,imperceptible zoom into Clarissa's crying face as she remembers Richard saying, `Goodmorning Mrs Dalloway' and how `Since then [she's] been stuck with the name' furtherhighlights her entrapment in this patriarchal construct. This expands on the loss of femaleidentity that Woolf initiated in her novel. Despite the shift in contexts, Daldry examines howsimilarities in how women feel in their societal positions negates the changes in relationships and marriage over time, enabling the audience to trace the same emotions over time in both texts.These are just examples as a starting point, expand further with more examples about thepsychological battle that characters face such as Laura Brown and her struggle to be freefrom the social restrictions despite escaping home and her motherly role. You could connectthis with Richard's psychological struggle and the negative ramifications of Laura's searchfor autonomy towards his identity.*Please note that while this information is a great starting point for these texts, relying solely on the information in this post will not be enough to get a result in the top bands. "Clarissa had a theory in those days - they had heaps of theories, always theories, as young people have. It was to explain the feeling they had of dissatisfaction; not knowing people; not being known. For how could they know each other? You met every day; then not for six months, or years. It was unsatisfactory, they agreed, how little one knew people. But she said, sitting on the bus going up Shaftesbury Avenue, she felt herself everywhere; not 'here, here, here'; and she tapped the back of the seat; but everywhere. She waved her hand, going up Shaftesbury Avenue. She was all that. So that to know her, or any one, one must seek out the people who completed them; even the places. Odd affinities she had with people she had never spoke to, some women in the street, some man behind a counter - even trees, or barns. It ended in a transcendental theory which, with her horror of death, allowed her to believe, or say that she believed (for all her scepticism), that since our apparitions, the part of us which appears, are so momentary compared with the other, the unseen part of us, which spreads wide, the unseen might survive, be recovered somehow attached to this person or that, or even haunting certain places, after death. Perhaps - perhaps." Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway Page 2 "One might fancy that day, the London day, was just beginning. Like a woman who had slipped off her print dress and white apron to array herself in blue and pearls, the day changed, put off stuff, took gauze, changed to evening, and with the same sigh of exhilaration that a woman breathes, tumbling petticoats on the floor, it too shed dust, heat, colour; the traffic thinned; motor cars, tinkling, darting, succeeded the lumber of vans; and here and there among the thick foliage of the squares an intense light hung. I resign, the evening seemed to say, as it paled and faded above the battlements and prominences, moulded, pointed, of hotel, flat, and block of shops, I fade, she was beginning. I disappear, but London would have none of it, and rushed her bayonets into the sky, pinioned her, constrained her to partnership in her revelry." Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway Page 3 "What a lark! What a plunge! For so it had always seemed to her, when, with a little squeak of the hinges, which she could hear now, she had burst open the French windows and plunged at Bourton into the open air. How fresh, how calm, stiller than this of course, the air was in the early morning; like the flap of a wave; the kiss of a wave; chill and sharp and yet (for a girl of eighteen as she then was) solemn, feeling as she did, standing there at the open window, that something awful was about to happen; looking at the flowers, at the trees with the smoke winding off them and the rooks rising, falling; standing and looking until Peter Walsh said, "Musing among the vegetables?"--was that it?--"I prefer men to cauliflowers"--was that it? He must have said it at breakfast one morning when she had gone out on to the terrace--Peter Walsh. He would be back from India one of these days, June or July, she forgot which, for his letters were awfully dull; it was his sayings one remembered; his eyes, his pocket-knife, his smile, his grumpiness and, when millions of things had utterly vanished--how strange it was!--a few sayings like this about cabbages." Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway Page 4 "Beautiful!" she would murmur, nudging Septimus, that he might see. But beauty was behind a pane of glass. Even taste (Rezia liked ices, chocolates, sweet things) had no relish to him. He put down his cup on the little marble table. He looked at people outside; happy they seemed, collecting in the middle of the street, shouting, laughing, squabbling over nothing. But he could not taste, he could not feel. In the tea-shop among the tables and the chattering waiters the appalling fear came over him--he could not feel. He could reason; he could read, Dante for example, quite easily ("Septimus, do put down your book," said Rezia, gently shutting the Inferno), he could add up his bill; his brain was perfect; it must be the fault of the world then--that he could not feel." Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway Page 5 "Ah, but thinking became morbid, sentimental, directly one began conjuring up doctors, dead bodies; a little glow of pleasure, a sort of lust, too, over the visual impression warned one not to go on with that sort of thing any more - fatal to art, fatal to friendship. True. And yet, thought Peter Walsh, as the ambulance turned the corner, though the light high bell could be heard down the next street and still farther as it crossed the Tottenham Court Road, chiming constantly, it is the privilege of loneliness; in privacy one may do as one chooses. One might weep if no one saw. It had been his undoing - this susceptibility - in Anglo-Indian society; not weeping at the right time, or laughing either. I have that in me, he thought, standing by the pillar box, which could now dissolve in tears. Why heaven knows. Beauty of some sort probably, and the weight of the day, which, beginning with that visit to Clarissa, had exhausted him with its heat, its intensity, and the drip, drip of one impression after another down into that cellar where they stood, deep, dark, and no one would ever know. Partly for that reason, its secrecy, complete and inviolable, he had found life like an unknown garden, full of turns and corners, surprising, yes; really it took one's breath away, these moments; there coming to him by the pillar-box opposite the British Museum one of them, a moment, in which things came together; this ambulance; and life and death." Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway Page 6 "But she feared time itself, and read on Lady Bruton's face, as if it had been a dial cut in impassive stone, the dwindling of life; how year by year her share was sliced; how little the margin that remained was capable any longer of stretching, of absorbing, as in the youthful years, the colours, salts, tones of existence, so that she filled the room she entered, and felt often as she stood hesitating one moment on the threshold of her drawing-room, an exquisite suspense, such as might stay a diver before plunging while the sea darkens and brightens beneath him, and the waves which threaten to break, but only gently split their surface, roll and conceal and encrust as they just turn over the weeds with pearl." Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway Page 7 "Up in the sky swallows, swooping, swerving, flinging themselves in and out, round and round, yet always with perfect control as if elastics held them; and the sun spotting now this leaf, now that, in mockery, dazzling it with soft gold in pure good temper; and now and again some chime (it might be a motor horn) tinkling divinely on the grass stalks - all of this, calm and reasonable as it was made out of ordinary things as it was, was the truth now; beauty, that was the truth now; beauty, that was the truth now. Beauty was everywhere." Virginia Woolf, Mrs Dalloway Page 8 "Asa, intr-o zi de vara valurile se aduna, se inalta, cumpanindu-se, si cad; se aduna si cad; si universul intreg pare sa spuna, sa spuna mereu, "asta e tot" mereu mai apasat, iar inima din trupul care sta intins la soare pe tarm spune si ea. Asta e tot. Nu te mai teme, spune inima. Nu te mai teme,spune inima, incredintandu-si povara vreunei mari care suspina obstesc pentru toate tristetile; si reia, incepe, aduna, lasa sa cada." Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway Page 9 "But Proportion has a sister, less smiling, more formidable, a Goddess even now engaged--in the heat and sands of India, the mud and swamp of Africa, the purlieus of London, wherever in short the climate or the devil tempts men to fall from the true belief which is her own--is even now engaged in dashing down shrines, smashing idols, and setting up in their place her own stern countenance. Conversion is her name and she feasts on the wills of the weakly, loving to impress, to impose, adoring her own features stamped on the face of the populace. At Hyde Park Corner on a tub she stands preaching; shrouds herself in white and walks penitentially disguised as brotherly love through factories and parliaments; offers help, but desires power; smites out of her way roughly the dissentient, or dissatisfied; bestows her blessing on those who, looking upward, catch submissively from her eyes the light of their own. [She] had her dwelling in [his] heart, though concealed, as she mostly is, under some plausible disguise; some venerable name; love, duty, self sacrifice. How he would work--how toil to raise funds, propagate reforms, initiate institutions! But conversion, fastidious Goddess, loves blood better than brick, and feasts most subtly on the human will." Virginia Woolf, Mrs Dalloway Page 10 "But she feared time itself, and read on Lady Bruton's face, as if it had been a dial cut in impassive stone, the dwindling of life; how year by year her share was sliced; how little the margin that remained was capable any longer of stretching, of absorbing, as in the youthful years, the colours, salts, tones of existence, so that she filled the room she entered, and felt often as she stood hesitating one moment on the threshold of her drawing-room, an exquisite suspense, such as might stay a diver before plunging while the sea darkens and brightens beneath him, and the waves which threaten to break, but only gently split their surface, roll and conceal and encrust" Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway Page 11 " , -- , . -- ( ), . -. -- . - , , ; - . , , , , , . , , , -- , ( - ), , , -- , , -, -, -, . -- ." Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway Page 12 "When one was young, said Peter, one was too much excited to know people. Now that one was old, fifty-two to be precise (Sally was fifty-five, in body, she said, but her heart was like a girl's of twenty); now that one was mature then, said Peter, one could watch, one could understand, and one did not lose the power of feeling, he said. No, that is true, said Sally. She felt more deeply, more passionately, every year. It increased, he said, alas, perhaps, but one should be glad of it -- it went on increasing in his experience." Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway Page 13 "C'? una dignit? nelle persone, una solitudine; perfino tra marito e moglie, c'? un abisso di distanza, che bisogna rispettare, pens? Clarissa, guardandolo mentre apriva la porta; perch? a perderla noi stesse, o a toglierla, contro la sua volont?, a nostro marito, perderemmo l'indipendenza, il rispetto di s? - qualcosa che ?, dopo tutto, senza prezzo." Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway Page 14 "Afinal, podiam estar separados durante s?culos, ela e Peter, ela nunca escrevia uma carta e as dele eram muito secas; mas de s?bito lhe ocorria: "Que diria Peter, se estivesse aqui comigo agora?" Alguns dias, certas cenas lho traziam de volta, suavemente, sem a antiga amargura; ? talvez a recompensa de ter amado as criaturas; voltam em meio de St. James's Park por uma bela manh? - voltam mesmo. Mas Peter - por mais belo que fosse o dia, e as ?rvores, e a relva e aquela meninazinha cor-derosa, Peter nada veria disso tudo. Poria os ?culos, se ela lho dissesse; e olharia. O que lhe interessava era a situa??o do mundo; Wagner, a poesia de Pope, os caracteres das pessoas, sempre e sempre, e os defeitos dela pr?pria. Como a arreliava! Como discutiam! Ela ia casar-se com um primeiro-ministro e pararia no alto de uma escada; chamava-lhe a perfeita dona-de-casa (ela at? havia chorado no quarto); era o tipo acabado da perfeita dona-de-casa, dissera ele." Virginia Woolf, Mrs Dalloway Page 15 "How nice it must be, she said, in the country, struggling, as Mr. Whittaker had told her, with that violent grudge against the world which had scorned her, sneered at her, cast her off, beginning with this indignity -- the infliction of her unlovable body which people could not bear to see. Do her hair as she might, her forehead remained like an egg, bald, white. No clothes suited her. She might buy anything. And for a woman, of course, that meant never meeting the opposite sex. Never would she come first with anyone. Sometimes lately it had seemed to her that, except for Elizabeth, her food was all she lived for; her comforts; her dinner, her tea; her hot-water bottle at night." Virginia Woolf, Mrs Dalloway Page 16 "But everyone remembered; what she loved was this, here, now, in front of her; the fat lady in the cab. Did it matter then, she asked herself, walking towards Bond Street, 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? But that somehow in the streets of London, on the ebb and flow of things, here, there, she survived, Peter survived, lived in each other, she being part, she was positive, of the trees at home; of the house there, ugly, rambling all to bits and pieces as it was; part of people she had never met; being laid out like a mist between the people she knew best, who lifted her on their branches as she had seen the trees lift the mist, but it spread ever so far, her life, herself. But what was she dreaming as she looked into Hatchards' shop window? What was she trying to recover?" Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway Page 17 "Ma che importava, allora, ella si domandava procedendo verso Bond Street, che importava che ella dovesse, ineluttabilmente e completamente, cessare di vivere? Tanto fervore di vita sarebbe continuato senza di lei; se ne risentiva forse? o non era piuttosto consolante la certezza che la morte poneva fine a tutto; ma che in un certo modo, nelle vie di Londra, nella gran marea delle cose, qui, l?, ella sopravviveva, Peter sopravviveva, e vivevano uno nell'altro, e lei era parte -l'avrebbe giurato- degli alberi a Bourton; di quel brutto casamento laggi?, trasandato e tutto a pezzi e bocconi; parte di gente che non aveva mai visto al mondo; distesa come un velo di nebbia tra le creature che le erano pi? amiche, che si protendevano a sollevarla cos? come aveva visto gli alberi sollevare la bruma tra i rami; eppure si estendeva quanto mai lontano, quella vita che era poi lei" Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway

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