For now she need not think of anybody. She could be herself. And that was what now, she often felt the need of - to think; well not even to think. To be silent; to be alone. All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated... Although she continued to knit, and sat upright, it was thus that she felt herself; and this self having shed its attachments was free for the strangest adventures.
To the Lighthouse
Last year I had a long immersion into Virginia Woolf and really enjoyed it. I would be doing that sort of intense reading this summer, except I am with my studies instead. I'm getting close to the end so I feel the tug of independence welling up in me.
Sorry about the bad graphics on the painting of Virginia knitting.
What will I read when I have the choice? I;ve just started Michael Ondaatje's Deviserado. Unfortunately, I can only read inlittle snippets before bed. I like to read in big bites. What are you reading this summer?