How To Prepare For Volleyball

Hours

"Yes," says Clarissa. "It 's time."

seems that at this time Richard really starts to leave the world. To Clarissa is an almost physical sensation, tearing a soft but irreversible, such as a blade of grass to be pulled away from the earth. Clarissa soon fall asleep, soon all those who knew him will be asleep, and all will wake up tomorrow morning to find that he has joined the realm of the dead. It asks whether the next morning not only will mark the end of earthly existence to Richard, but also the beginning of the end of his poem. After all, there are so many books. Some of them, a handful are good, and those few only a few survive. It 'possible that the citizens of the future, people not yet born, will want to read the elegies of Richard, her complaints with such rhythmic beauty, its offers of love and fury antisentimentali strictly, but it's more likely that his books will vanish with almost everything else. Clarissa, the character of the novel, scanirà, as Laura Brown, the lost mother, the martyr and the devil.

Yes, Clarissa thinks, it's time to put an end to this day. Let our parties, we leave our families to live alone in Canada, we fight to write books that do not change the world, despite our talents and our efforts without reservation, our most extravagant hopes. We live our lives, do whatever, and then we sleep - is so simple and ordinary. Few jump from windows or drown or take pills; more people die from an accident and most of us, the vast majority, dies slowly devoured by some disease or, if very lucky, since the same time. There is only this as consolation: an hour here or there when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, completely open and give us everything we have imagined, though everyone but children (or maybe even themselves) know that these hours will inevitably be followed by other more gloomy and difficult. Anyway, love the city, morning, more than anything else, we hope to have more.

Heaven knows why we love him so much.

Here there is still the party: the flowers are still fresh, Everything is ready for guests, which ultimately are only four. Forgive Richard. In fact, after all, is a party. A feast for those who are not yet dead, and those in relatively good condition, for reasons mysterious to those who are lucky to be alive.

E ', in fact, a great fortune.

Julia says: "Do you think I should prepare a dish for the mother of Richard?"

"No," said Clarissa, "I'm going to take it."

Back in the living room by Laura Brown. Laura smiles weakly to Clarissa - who knows what he thinks or feels? Here it is, the woman's fury and pain, the pathos, the dazzling charm, the woman in love with death, the victim and the executioner that haunted the work of Richard. Here in this room is the beloved, the traitor: an elderly woman, a retired librarian in Toronto, bringing the old lady shoes.

And there too, Clarissa, no more Mrs. Dalloway: there is no one to call it that. It was another hour ahead.

'Come, Mrs. Brown, "he says. "It 's all ready."

Retrieved from pages. 165-166 of "The Hours" by Michael Cunningham (Simon and Schuster, 1999)