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a piece of her mind. Often our choices are based upon our basic needs and
what makes us feel safe. Yet, there is always that minute ...
... This is not a memory lingering at the back of her mind, No. ... Woolf?s use of specific
language authenticates the autobiographical elements of her piece. ...
... clear by the only two times in the story when statements are directed towards her
are manifestations of her mind. The first is with the fur piece portrayed as ...
... every piece of me if i believed it would give you piece of mind ... Tentative, wobbly
and unsure Hands wringing, twisting fingers Voice in her mind encouraging her ...
... 5-6), and in relation to his final two lines in the piece, this is ... She keeps aspirations
in the back of her mind which is her 'spiritual repose' (line 52). ...
Submitted by easyway on March 7, 2005
Category: English
Words: 703 | Pages: 3
Views: 106
Popularity Rank: 71,904
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Often our choices are based upon our basic needs and what makes us feel safe. Yet, there is always that minute doubt tangled within our gut, wondering what would have happened if we took the dangerous, the hesitant, and the more thrilling path. One of the most universal experiences human beings face as we begin to age is we start to look back upon our lives and wonder if we made the right choices. For some people, they experience a “mid life crisis” and choose to start all over again, desperately yearning for a different result. Others dwell in a sense of melancholy, saddened by their fantasies of what life could have been had they chosen “the other path.” What if I had married differently? What if I had chosen a different career? These “what ifs” begin to pile on top on one another, creating a disappointing mountain of uncertainty and speculation. Within Mrs. Dalloway, Virginia Woolf portrays Mrs. Clarissa Dalloway as a woman who is exploring these questions in a single afternoon of her life. If Mrs. Dalloway were to have kept a diary during this one day in her life, the following is an excerpt of what I think she would have written in it.
Dear Diary,
“As a cloud crossed the sun, silence falls on London: and falls on the mind. Effort ceases. Time flaps on the mast. There we stop; there we stand. Rigid, the skeleton of habit upholds the human frames.”(49) Earlier today, he just stood there in front of me, his failure figure seeming more daunting than ever before. As my eyes met his, drapes of memory began to unravel within my mind, uncovering the ancient sheds of abandoned feelings. It was too difficult to ignore the pulsating pain I felt when my eyes met hit. My eyes frantically searched for an escape outlet. As I passed through the gigantic wooden doors towards the small room, I was forced to confront the amber-stillness of a surprisingly placeless place. I scanned the room I had just finished cleaning nearly an hour...
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