The hours...always the hours

Kitty: Oh, you're reading a book?
Laura Brown: Yeah.
Kitty: What's this one about?
Laura Brown: Oh, it's about this woman who's incredibly - well, she's a hostess and she's incredibly confident and she's going to give a party. And, maybe because she's confident, everyone thinks she's fine... but she isn't.

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

Richard Brown: Just wait till I die. Then you'll have to think of yourself. How are you going to like that?








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












Richard Brown: Would you be angry if I died?  
Richard Brown: I've stayed alive for you. But now you have to let me go. 

Laura Brown: We're baking the cake to show him that we love him.
Richie Brown: Otherwise he won't know we love him?
Laura Brown: That's right.




Laura Brown: It would be wonderful to say you regretted it. It would be easy. But what does it mean? What does it mean to regret when you have no choice? It's what you can bear. There it is. No one's going to forgive me. It was death. I chose life.

Clarissa Vaughn: 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: So, this is the beginning of happiness. This is where it starts. And of course there will always be more. It never occurred to me it wasn't the beginning. It was happiness. It was the moment. Right then.

Richard Brown: Like that morning, when you walked out of that old house and you were, you were eighteen, and maybe I was nineteen. I was nineteen years old, and I'd never seen anything so beautiful. You, coming out of a glass door in your early morning, still sleepy. Isn't it strange, the most ordinary morning in anybody's life? I'm afraid I can't make it to the party, Clarissa. You've been so good to me, Mrs. Dalloway, I love you. I don't think two people could have been happier than we've been.

Virginia Woolf: 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.