Le danger d'être dans une seule ~

« She wold not say of anyone in the world now that they were this or were that. She felt very young; at the same time unspeakably aged. She sliced like a knife through everything; at the same time was outside, looking on. She had a perpetual sense, as she watched the taxi cabs, of being out, out, far out to sea and alone; she always had the feeling that it was very very dangerous to live even one day. Not that she thought herself clever, or much out of the ordinary. How she had got through life on the few twigs of knowledge Fraulein Daniels gave them she could not think. She knew nothing ; no language, no history ; she scarcely read a book now, except memoirs in bed ; and yet to her it was absolutely absorbing ; all this ; the cabs passing ; and she woud not say of Peter, she would not say of herself, I am this, I am that. »
Mrs Dalloway, Virginia Woolf, Penguin Books, Modern classics.


Entre être, savoir que l’on est, vivre son quotidien. Mrs Dalloway lit des mémoires de grands hommes.



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