The Hours

I remember one morning getting up at dawn, there was such a sense of possibility. You know, that feeling? And I remember thinking to myself this is the beginning of happiness. This is where it starts. And of course there will always be more. It never occurred to wasn't the beginning. It was happiness. It was the moment. Right then.

Someone has to die in order that the rest of us should value life more. It's contrast.

I am ungrateful? You call me ungrateful? My life has been stolen from me. I'm living in a town I have no wish to live in. I'm living a life I have no wish to live. How did this happen?

When I'm with him I feel... Yes, I am living. And when I'm not with him... Yes, everything does seem sort of silly.

You can not find peace by avoiding life, Leonard.

A woman's whole life in a single day. Just one day. And in that day her whole life.

I don't think two people could have been happier than we have been.

I wanted to be a writer, that's all. I wanted to write about it all. Everything that happens in a moment. The way the flowers looked when you carried them in your arms. This towel, how it smells, how it feels, this thread. All our feelings, yours and mine. The history of it, who we once were. Everything in the world. Everything all mixed up, like it's all mixed up now. And I failed. I failed. No matter what you start with it ends up being so much less. Sheer fucking pride and stupidity.

Dear Leonard. To look life in the face, always, to look life in the face and to know it for what it is. At last to know it, to love it for what it is, and then, to put it away. Leonard, always the years between us, always the years. Always the love. Always the hours.

It's on this day. This day of all days. Her fate becomes clear to her.

Angelica: — What happens when we die?
Virginia: — What happens? [pause] We return to the place that we came from.
Angelica: — I don't remember where I came from.
Virginia: — Nor do I.

It's more like... he makes them his own.

Everything's gone from me but the certainty of your goodness.

— Would you be angry?
— Would I be angry if you didn't show up at the party?
— Would you be angry if I died?

If it is a choice between Richmond and death, I choose death.

Oh, Mrs. Dalloway. Always giving parties to cover the silence.