#lighthouse

She had some hidden reason of her own for attaching great importance to this choosing what her mother was to wear. What was the reason, Mrs. Ramsay wondered, standing still to let her clasp the necklace she had chosen, divining, through her own past, some deep, some buried, some quite speechless feeling that one had for one's mother at Rose's age. Like all feelings felt for oneself, Mrs. Ramsay thought, it made one sad. It was so inadequate, what one could give in return; and what Rose felt was quite out of proportion to anything she actually was. And Rose would grow up; and Rose would suffer, she supposed, with these deep feelings, and she said she was ready now... ↗

— Virginia Woolf

#age

With her foot on the threshold she waited a moment longer in a scene which was vanishing even as she looked, and then, as she moved and took Minta's arm and left the room, it changed, it shaped itself differently; it had become, she knew, giving one last look at it over her shoulder, already the past. ↗

— Virginia Woolf

#change

Anything for the quick life, as the man said when he took the situation at the lighthouse. ↗

— Charles Dickens

#life #lighthouse #man #quick #said

We go by the lighthouse; paddle out. After we got out, we paddled way down to get the biggest peak. ↗

— George Downing

#biggest #down #get #go #got

That people should love like this, that Mr. Bankes should feel this for Mrs. Ramsay (she glanced at him musing) was helpful, was exalting. ↗

— Virginia Woolf

#love

...so now, Mrs. Ramsay thought, she could return to that dream land, that unreal but fascinating place, the Manning's drawing-room at Marlow twenty years ago; where one moved about without haste or anxiety, for there was no future to worry about. She knew what had happened to them, what to her. It was like reading a good book again, for she knew the end of that story, since it had happened twenty years ago, and life, which shot down even from this dining-room table in cascades, heaven knows where, was sealed up there, and lay, like a lake, placidly between its banks. ↗

— Virginia Woolf

#life

...(for the setting of her beauty was always that - hasty, but apt)... ↗

— Virginia Woolf

#beauty

Beacon, beacon, lonesome on a hill— Waves run aground, pound ‘round, what a thrill! Water water everywhere crashes, Shore’s not lazy for it mashes, bashes….. Summer’s when tourists traipse o’er to see you, Offering to wipe-wash your dust and mildew; Summer painters place you with dinghy and gull, Historians have you as subject o’er which to mull. When feline Fog drifts gently or is heavy, Your bright light’s followed by boat bevy; And during those calm, clear days and nights You’re that upright nautical dream exciting tiny tykes. ↗

— Mariecor Ruediger

#lighthouse #mariecor-ruediger #summer #dreams