142
" Oh, look, Sally. You brought roses.” “What? Oh, well. Yes.” Sally flourishes the roses and, at the same moment, notices the vase full of roses Clarissa has put on the table. They both laugh. “This is sort of an O. Henry moment, isn’t it?” Sally says. “You can’t possibly have too many roses,” Clarissa says. Sally hands the flowers to her and for a moment they are both simply and entirely happy. They are present, right now, and they have managed, somehow, over the course of eighteen years, to continue loving each other. It is enough. At this moment, it is enough. "
― Michael Cunningham , The Hours
145
" Vrag je glavobolja; vrag je glas u zidu; vrag je peraja što siječe tamne valove. Vrag je kratko, cvrkutavo ništa koje je bilo drozdov život. Vrag usisava sve ljepote svijeta, sve nade, a ono što ostaje, pošto vrag dovrši svoj posao, carstvo je živih mrtvaca - lišenih veselja, prigušenih.
Virginia osjeća, tog trena, stanovitu tragičnu veličinu, jer vrag je mnogo toga, ali nije sitničav, nije sentimentalan; on puca od smrtonosne, nepodnošljive istine. U ovom trenutku, dok šeta, kad je ne muči glavobolja i kad nema glasova, može se suprotstaviti vragu, samo se ne smije zaustaviti, ne smije se osvrnuti. "
― Michael Cunningham , The Hours
146
" Pensa a quanto più spazio occupi un essere in vita che in morte, a quanta dimensione illusoria sia contenuta nei gesti, nel movimento, nel respiro. Morti, ci riveliamo nelle nostre vere dimensioni, e sono dimensioni sorprendentemente modeste. (...) Non ha sentito forse lei stessa, Virginia, uno spazio vuoto dentro di sé, sorprendentemente piccolo, dove sembrava avessero dimora i sentimenti più forti? "
― Michael Cunningham , The Hours
147
" Vivemos as nossas vidas, fazemos seja o que for que fazemos e depois dormimos: é tão simples e tão normal como isso. Alguns atiram-se de janelas ou afogam-se, ou tomam comprimidos; um número maior morre por acidente, e a maioria, a imensa maioria é lentamente devorada por alguma doença ou, com muita sorte, pelo próprio tempo. Há apenas uma consolação: uma hora aqui ou ali em que as nossas vidas parecem, contra todas as probabilidades e expectativas, abrir-se de repente e dar-nos tudo quanto imaginámos, embora todos, excepto as crianças (e talvez até elas), saibamos que a estas horas se seguirão inevitavelmente outras, muito mais negras e difíceis. Mesmo assim, adoramos a cidade, a manhã, mesmo assim desejamos, acima de tudo, mais. "
― Michael Cunningham , The Hours
148
" He thinks with distracted affection of himself, the young Louis Waters, who spent his youth trying to live with Richard, who was variously flattered and enraged by Richard's indefatigable worship of his arms and his ass, and who left Richard finally, forever, after a fight in the train station in Rome (had it been specifically about the letter Richard received from Clarissa, or about Louis's more general sense of exhausted interest in being the more blessed, less brilliant member?). That Louis, only twenty-eight but convinced of his advanced age and
missed opportunities, had walked away from Richard and gotten on a train that turned out to be going to Madrid. It had seemed, at the time, a dramatic but temporary gesture, and as the train steamed along
(the conductor had informed him, indignantly, where he was headed) he'd been strangely, almost
preternaturally content. He'd been free. Now he scarcely remembers his aimless days in Madrid; he does not even remember with great clarity the Italian boy (could his name actually have been Franco?) who convinced him to finally abandon the long, doomed project of loving Richard, in favor of simpler passions. What he remembers with perfect clarity is sitting on a train headed for Madrid, feeling the sort of happiness he imagined spirits might feel, freed of their earthly bodies but still
possessed of their essential selves. "
― Michael Cunningham , The Hours
151
" She always surprises you this way, by knowing more than you think she does. Louis wonders if
they're calculated, these little demonstrations of self-knowledge that pepper Clarissa's wise, hostessy
performance. She seems, at times, to have read your thoughts. She disarms you by saying, essentially,
I know what you're thinking and I agree, I'm ridiculous, I'm far less than I could have been and I'd like
it to be otherwise but I can't seem to help myself. You find that you move, almost against your will,
from being irritated with her to consoling her, helping her back into her performance so that she can
be comfortable again and you can resume feeling irritated. "
― Michael Cunningham , The Hours