violetrivulets

“So i wait for you like a lonely house till you will see me again and live in me. Till then my windows ache.”

- Pablo Neruda

“It was love, she thought, pretending to move her canvas, distilled and filtered; love that never attempted to clutch its object; but, like the love which mathematicians bear their symbols, or poets their phrases, was meant to be spread over the world and become part of the human gain. So it was indeed. The world by all means should have shared it, could Mr. Bankes have said why that woman pleased him so; why the sight of her reading a fairy tale to her boy had upon him precisely the same effect as the solution of a scientific problem, so that he rested in contemplation of it, and felt, as he felt when he had proved something absolute about the digestive system of plants, that barbarity was tamed, the reign of chaos subdued.
Such a rapture - for by what other name could one call it? - made Lily Briscoe forget entirely what she had been about to say. It was nothing of importance; something about Mrs. Ramsey. It paled beside this “rapture”, this silent stare, for which she felt intense gratitude; for nothing so solaced her, eased her of the perplexity of life, and miraculously raised its burdens, as this sublime power, this heavenly gift, and one would no more disturb it, while it lasted, than break up the shaft of sunlight lying level across the floor.”

taken from ‘To The Lighthouse’ by Virginia Woolf