1a edición de To the Lighthouse. Otro buen regalo de navidad.

"It was a splendid mind. For if thought is like the keyboard of a piano, divided into so many notes, or like the alphabet is ranged in twenty-six letters all in order, then his splendid mind had no sort ofdifficulty in running over those letters one by one, firmly and accurately, until it had reached, say, the letter Q. He reached Q. Very few peoplein the whole of England ever reach Q." (33).

"…and that all this desire of hers to give, to help, was vanity. For her own self-satisfaction was it that she wished so instinctively to help, to give, that people might say of her, ‘O Mrs. Ramsay! dear Mrs. Ramsay . . .Mrs. Ramsay, of course!’ And need her and send for her and admire her? Was it not secretly this that she wanted…" (41).

". . . how life, from being made up of little separate incidents which one lived one by one, became curled and whole like a wave which bore one up with it and threw one down with it, there, with a dash on the beach" (47).

". . . how life, from being made up of little separate incidents which one lived one by one, became curled and whole like a wave which bore one up with it and threw one down with it, there, with a dash on the beach" (47).

"She could have wept. It was bad, it was bad, it was infinitely bad! She could have done it differently of course; the colour could have been thinned and faded; the shapes etherealised; that was how Paunceforte would have seen it. But then she did not see it like that. She saw the colour burning on a framework of steel; the light of a butterfly’s wing lying upon the arches of a cathedral. Of all that only a few random marks scrawled upon the canvas remained. And it would never be seen; never be hung even, and there was Mr. Tansley whispering in her ear, "Women can’t paint, women can’t write…" (48).