VIRGINIA WOOLF

In solitude, we give passionate attention to our lives, to our memories, to the details around us.

Currently Playing

Kevin Putts
THE HOURS
Libretto by Greg Price

Renée Fleming
Kelli O’Hara
Joyce DiDonato

Kyle Ketelsen, Denyce Graves, Sean Panikkar, John Holiday, William Burden, Brandon Cedel, Eric Jurenas

Kensho Watanabe
The Metropolitan Orchestra and Chorus

Currently Playing

Philip Glass
THE HOURS
Music from the Motion Picture

VIRGINIA WOOLF

____________________

I enjoy the spring more than the autumn now. One does, I think, as one gets older.

ORLANDO

Sally Potter
UK, 1992

VIRGINIA WOOLF
Mrs. Dalloway

____________________

And it was awfully strange, he thought, how she still had the power, as she came tinkling, rustling, still had the power as she came across the room, to make the moon, which he detested, rise at Bourton on the terrace in the summer sky. 

VIRGINIA WOOLF from Between The Acts

Lucy turned the page, quickly, guiltily, like a child who will be told to go to bed before the end of the chapter.

VIRGINIA WOOLF from To The Lighthouse

Through the open window the voice of the beauty of the world came murmuring, too softly to hear exactly what it said—but what mattered if the meaning were plain?

VIRGINIA WOOLF from The Waves

The clock ticks. The two hands are convoys marching through a desert. The black bars on the clock face are green oases. The long hand has marched ahead to find water. The other painfully stumbles among hot stones in the desert. It will die in the desert.

VIRGINIA WOOLF from To The Lighthouse

But slumber and sleep though it might there came later in the summer ominous sounds like the measured blows of hammers dulled on felt, which, with their repeated shocks still further loosened the shawl and cracked the tea-cups. Now and again some glass tinkled in the cupboard as if a giant voice had shrieked so loud in its agony that tumblers stood inside a cupboard vibrated too. Then again silence fell; and then, night after night, and sometimes in plain mid-day when the roses were bright and light turned on the wall its shape clearly there seemed to drop into this silence, this indifference, this integrity, the thud of something falling.