If she hadn't packed a stone in her pocket and walked towards the center of the river, how would a struggling soul eventually overwhelm her weak body and collapse?
Regarding the stories that happened in her chaotic small circle, Woolf naturally also provided a lot of rhymes, but the romance still needs her to appreciate. Perhaps, she gave more foul smoke and scorching talk. She once wore a cumbersome skirt and floor-length skirt. On a certain occasion where the rules and disguise were temporarily set aside, she squatted a bit, and then she swiftly made herself into an argument. The pace of her walking makes people think that the skirt should have something like a trouser pocket, so that the hand that does not hold a book to quote the quotation or does not hold a cigarette has a proper place-maybe hold the fabric, maybe hold it tight Fist, in short, you must find a place to put your mind at ease.
"Knowing life, knowing what it is; facing life, no matter what it is; finally abandoning it." When she came to this conclusion, she didn't care about anything. Whoever wants to talk about her right or wrong, she doesn't bother to say HOW DARE YOU ARE in an angry and reserved way! That's right and wrong, please don't care, there are no more people and things worth the effort than headaches and anxiety. She would go back to sit at the table, fill the pen with ink, spread out a stack of paper, and write on it thoughtfully for hours, or just sit there nervously to fight hallucinations and depression, until the restlessness prompts her to bite every one of them. Finger nails.
She has relatives, and takes care of her as a precious husband. She is a sister who has maintained a close relationship all her life. They must have loved her to the extent that they can’t help it. Sometimes they can’t stand her sudden emotional changes and yell at her. , What do you want in the end? At this time, most of the Woolf kids turned around with trembling lips and tears in their eyes, slammed the door without saying a word, locked the door, and continued to play the ultimate proposition self-questioning and self-answering game, with more lives and endless questions.
She is shy, and she is used to writing letters. Maybe order the cook to cook a dinner, and write a grammatically perfect note with scribbled handwriting and the most educated tone. She is always in a state of fright like a rodent, and suddenly she will feel like a naked person, and anyone's eyes will make her panic. Today, Woolf will be the man on Earth who said "Let me go back to Mars."
Depression and fear gnawed her nails, bald her pen nib, and when she was tired of coping, that day came.
That was the day when she decided to cut herself off. It was not a whim, on the contrary, it was her unstoppable thoughts. Whether it's her husband or sister, publishing a new book or looking for an updated writing method, she can no longer hold her back. She finished a cigarette tremblingly and made up her mind. Because of this idea too frequently, this decision has all the weight of the past, and it also has the frivolousness of temporary intentions. Regardless of him, any pair of hands that stubbornly held her clothes, she would break those tightly clenched fingers likewise, until they turned blue and white.
She died that day. The suicide note left to her husband said, "I believe that no one will be happier than the two of us." However, she doesn't care, and the world of the living has nothing to do with her. In the face of death, she would never be able to jump for joy, and even when she decided to die, she seemed anxious and anxious like a small animal until the river flooded her head.
How does an ordinary woman, a woman who usually decides that I want to buy a bunch of flowers by myself today, be connected with suicide? Since Woolf, "Mrs Dalloway", plus this movie. The two irrelevant words "buying flowers" and "suicide" can be linked together in just one round. Between life and death, a woman thought silently, and the mighty and prosperous life collapsed. She went to death strong and generous.
With Woolf and her disciples, I understand that the word "vulnerability" alone is not enough to explain the self-destruction of people facing life. The conversion between normality and abnormality can be achieved through reflection. The seeds of death are planted, budding branches and blooming, and only death itself can comfort. At that moment of that day, perversion is the norm.
It is not life that links people together, it is the fate of death that drives people to each other. Those who have traveled through the land and returned cannot pour out the heavy secrets about death, and they are wrong when they say it; the living never get close to desperation easily; the dead keep their mouths silent. Death is a fact that is pretended to be ignored in broad daylight. It is as charming and dangerous as any temptation in the world. The world is so big, but there is no trouser pocket for a neurotic woman, so she understands that this is not a suitable dress, realizes what kind of dress it is, she no longer needs it, and gives it up.
I have only one thing to blame Woolf. As mentioned in the preface of a certain book, after reading her book, I feel that the world is full of pale and thin pieces of paper. No one can replace a reader's mind with her own sensitive mind like her. The substitution completed unknowingly, as if she were you and me, for you and me alone to write down the rich details that could not be recorded, and could not keep up with the changing thinking in the footsteps.
When she was eager to argue with someone in a certain living room, she also seemed to leave at any time. Too alert to be out of reach.
Illusion and fear caused thorns to grow around her for no reason, and she said that lily is a kind of too pale flower. "Because of how easy a rhyme is, it allows us to complete the awkward transition from death to life." The reverse is also true, she said, and vice versa.
So she dropped the world of paper people. The little pieces followed the rhyme she left behind, looking for the house with the old oak tree, waiting for their name to be called up like this—Orlando! Orlando! Get up again to answer. As if this way, the soul full of flesh and blood can be recalled.
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