"Ultimately, however, halted. I was describing, as always describe all young poets, nature, and to specify particular shade of green, looked (and here showed more audacity than most) the thing in question, which resulted in being a laurel bush growing under the window. After this, of course, he could not write anymore. One thing is the green of nature and the other the green of the literature. Nature and letters seem to be a natural antipathy; Put them together and will shred one another. The shade of green Orlando now saw blighted his rhyme and meter. Moreover, nature has its own tricks. Just look through the window at bees among flowers, a dog boztezando, the setting sun, just say "see how many suns put", etc.., Etc. (the idea is well known to be worthy of writing), and a loose pen, take the coat, leaves the room, and in doing so is engaged in a foot painted chest. Because Orlando was a little awkward.
(...) Finally, getting up from a jump (it was winter and very cold now), Orlando gave one of the most notorious oaths of his life, which linked to the most strict bondage. "May I die," he said, "if I ever write another word, or try to write another word, to please Nick Greene or the Muse. Good, bad or mediocre, from now on only write to please myself" and here he showed the man's face and lip sardonic pendant. After this, Memory, and sneaks the dog to see you stoop to throw a stone whisked the effigy of Nick Greene and replaced it ... nothing. (...)
long time
Delivered profound reflections, such as the importance of anonymity, and the delight of being famous, but be like a wave returning to the deep bosom of the sea, thinking about how the anonymity waged mind the hassle of envy and spite, in how you do run through the veins the pure waters of the generosity and magnanimity, in how it allows give and take, without retribution or praise in return, something which, he supposed, should be characteristic of all great poets (though his knowledge of Greek was not enough to secure it), because it had to be written Shakespeare, and had to cathedral-builders worked anonymously, without reputation or thanks, but only work during the day and maybe a little beer for the night ... "What a life that so admirable," he thought, stretching his legs under the oak. "And why not enjoy it now?" That thought struck him like a bullet. Ambition sank like lead. Free from bitterness of rejected love, and vanity of the wound, and all throbbing and punctures the bed of nettles that this life had caused him when coveted Fame, but that nothing could be against a person not looking for glory, Orlando opened his eyes, that had been open all the time, but just watching thoughts, and saw, lying at his feet in the ravine, home.
(...) men's chest contains no stronger passion than getting others to believe what they believe. Nothing as root harvest happiness and feeling that other values \u200b\u200bso low that we consider the highest price. Whigs and Tories, or Liberal Party and Conservative Party ... Why fight but for his own prestige? What sets off in a neighborhood against another, leading to a parish to fight against another, not the love of truth, but the desire to dominate. All ambition more peace of mind and subordination, that the triumph of truth and the exaltation of virtue ... But these morals are those of the historians, and we will leave them, because they are heavier than lead. "
Orlando (1928) Virginia Woolf
I have only read this and this another book of Woolf, but the truth is that every time I love it a little more and I still think people should read more to this lady and no self-help shit, after all, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?; - )
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