Mrs. Dalloway: Book the Tenth

I've been rushing through Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway (book #10) this week in preparation for reading The Hours (which was inspired by Mrs. Dalloway) for my book club meeting. What I really need to do is stop reading it at night, in bed, because it's difficult to not get distracted during some of the long stream-of-consciousness passages. That being said, I am really enjoying the writing, when I'm able to focus, before the melatonin tablets kick in. There are such beautiful passages sprinkled here and there.

In some passages - melodramatic though they may be - I can see myself (not the lesbian or suicidal parts, in case you were wondering):

She would not say of any one in the world now that they were this or that. She felt very young; at the same time unspeakably aged... She had a perpetual sense, as she watched the taxi cabs, of being out, out, far out to sea and alone; she always had the feeling that it was very, very dangerous to live even one day.

This is a lovely book that I plan to revisit and read more carefully when I have time. Some bits really make me think, and seem familiar to me, as I said. But right now, I just want to cruise through it and finish up so I have a good background for The Hours. Moving right along!