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The excerpt represents the core issue or deciding factor on which you must meditate, and is drawn from To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf: one of those habitual currents in which after a certain time experience
forms in the mind, so that one repeats words without being aware any
longer who originally spoke them.
Can't paint, can't write, she murmured monotonously, anxiously
considering what her plan of attack should be. For the mass loomed
before her; it protruded; she felt it pressing on her eyeballs. Then,
as if some juice necessary for the lubrication of her faculties were
spontaneously squirted, she began precariously dipping among the blues
and umbers, moving her brush hither and thither, but it was now heavier
and went slower, as if it had fallen in with some rhythm which was
dictated to her (she kept looking at the hedge, at the canvas) by what
To the Lighthouse |
