• In a world of separation, art connects


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from Mrs. Dalloway…

Her evening dresses hung in the cupboard.

Clarissa, plunging her hand into the softness,

gently detached the green dress and carried

it to the window. She had torn it. Someone

had trod on the skirt. She had felt it give at

the  Embassy party at the top among the folds.

By artificial light the green shone, but lost its

colour now in the sun. She would mend it.

Her maids had too much to do. She would

wear it tonight. She would take her silks,

her scissors, her – what was it? Her thimble,

of course, down into the drawing-room...

Quiet descended on her, calm, content,

as her needle, drawing the silk smoothly

to its gentle pause, collected the green

folds together and attached them, very

lightly,  to the belt. So on a summer’s day

waves collect, overbalance, and fall; collect

and fall; and the whole world seems to be

saying “that is all” more and more

ponderously, until even the heart in the

body which lies in the sun on the beach says

too, That is all. Fear no more, says the heart.

Fear no more, says the heart, committing

its burden to some sea, which sighs

collectively for all sorrows, and renews,

begins, collects, lets fall. And the body alone

listens to the passing bee; the wave breaking;

the dog barking, far away barking and barking.”










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