The Moment and Other Essays. Title: The Moment and Other Essays.

Author: Virginia Woolf. A Project Gutenberg of Australia e.

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GO TO Project Gutenberg Australia HOME PAGEThe Moment and Other Essays. Virginia Woolf. Published 1. Contents. Editorial Note. The Moment: Summer's Night. On Being Ill. The Faery Queen. Congreve's Comedies. Sterne's Ghost. Mrs.

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Thrale. Sir Walter Scott. Gas at Abbotsford. Sir Walter Scott. The Antiquary. Lockhart's Criticism. David Copperfield. Lewis Carroll. Edmund Gosse. Notes on D. H. Lawrence.

Roger Fry. The Art Of Fiction. American Fiction.

The Leaning Tower. On Rereading Novels. Personalities. Pictures. Harriette Wilson. Genius: R. B. Haydon. The Enchanted Organ: Anne Thackeray.

Two Women: Emily Davies and Lady Augusta Stanley. Ellen Terry. To Spain. Fishing. The Artist and Politics. Royalty. Royalty.

EDITORIAL NOTEIn my editorial note to The Death of the Moth I wrote that Virginia. Woolf "left behind her a considerable number of essays, sketches, and short. Since then the short. A Haunted House. The present volume.

I have followed the same method of. The Death of the Moth, including some of all the. The consequence is that the standard of achievement seems to me. The Common Reader or in The Death.

Moth, and it is the same in the essays which I have not included. Some of the essays are now published for the first time; others have. The Times Literary Supplement, The Nation, the New. Watch Moonwalking: The True Story Of Michael Jackson - Uncensored Online Forbes.

Statesman and Nation, Time and Tide, the New York Saturday Review, New. Writing. I have included two essays with the same title, Royalty. Picture Post; the second was published in Time and Tide. What I said with regard to the unrevised state of the essays in the. The Death of the Moth applies to the essays included. If Virginia Woolf had lived, she would have revised or. The essays differ considerably in their state of.

All which have actually been published in newspapers have been. Some of them—e. g. On Re- reading. Novels—have in fact been revised and rewritten after publication with. Others, e. g. The Moment, exist only. I have printed these exactly as they were left, except for. I have done so with. LEONARD WOOLFTHE MOMENT: SUMMER'S NIGHTThe night was falling so that the table in the garden among the trees grew.

An owl, blunt. obsolete looking, heavy weighted, crossed the fading sky with a black spot. The trees murmured.

An aeroplane hummed like a piece of. There was also, on the roads, the distant explosion of a motor. Yet what composed the. If you are young, the future lies upon the present, like a. If you are old, the past lies. All the. same, everybody believes that the present is something, seeks out the different.

To begin with: it is largely composed of visual and of sense impressions. The day was very hot.

After heat, the surface of the body is opened, as if all. The air wafts cold on the skin under one's clothes. The soles. of the feet expand in slippers after walking on hard roads.

Then the sense of. Then the leaves shiver now and again, as. But this moment is also composed of a sense that the legs of the chair are. Then the sky loses its colour perceptibly and a star. Then changes, unseen in the day, coming.

One becomes aware that we are. And as nothing can. Now. little sparks, which are not steady, but fitful as if somebody were doubtful. Is it time to light the lamp, the farmers' wives are. I see a little longer? The lamp sinks down; then it burns up.

All. doubt is over. Yes the time has come in all cottages, in all farms, to light. Thus then the moment is laced about with these weavings to and fro. But that is the wider circumference of the moment. Here in the centre is a. They are not subject to the law of the sun and.

They assist it. For sometimes a hand rests on the table. Now the moment becomes shot with the. He'll do well with his hay."The words let fall this seed, but also, coming from that obscure face, and.

But you're no worse looking than. All this shoots through the moment, makes it quiver with.

Could we not fly too, with broad wings and with. Ah, yes, if we could fly, fly, fly.. Here the body is gripped; and shaken. Hay fever—what a noise!—there's no. Except spending hay time on a boat. Perhaps worse than the disease. Issuing from a white arm, a long shape, lying back, in a film of black and.

No longer part of the snow; no part of the. Thus into the moment steals. But no; the other shape has sent from. Shall I fetch my Vapex?" She, the. That is why the moment becomes harder, is intensified. Then a light is struck; in it appears a sunburnt face, lean, blue- eyed, and.

He beats her every Saturday; from boredom, I should say; not drink; there's. The moment runs like quicksilver on a sloping aboard into the cottage.

Liz comes. in and John catches her a blow on the side of her head as she slopes past him. And she. moans in a chronic animal way; and thy children look up and then make a. John sits himself down with a thump at the table and carves a hunk of bread and.

A steam rises from his cabbage. Let us do something then, something to end this horrible moment, this. Let us smash it by breaking a match. There—snap. And then comes the low of the cows in the field; and another cow to the left. But the sun is deep below the earth.

The. trees are growing heavier, blacker; no order is perceptible; there is no. Nothing can be seen.

We can only see. ourselves as outlines, cadaverous, sculpturesque. And it is more difficult for. The dark has stripped the fledge from the. Then comes the terror, the exultation; the power to rush out unnoticed. Everything's sopping wet. It's the dew off the grass. Time to go in."And then one shape heaves and surges and rises, and we pass, trailing coats.

ON BEING ILLFirst published in 1. Considering how common illness is, how tremendous the spiritual change that. Rinse the mouth—rinse the mouth" with the greeting of the.

Deity stooping from the floor of Heaven to welcome us—when we think of. Novels, one would have thought, would have been. But no; with a few exceptions De Quincey attempted something of the. The Opium Eater; there must be a volume or two about disease. Proust—literature does its best to.

On. the contrary, the very opposite is true. All day, all night the body. June, hardens to tallow in the murk of February. The creature within. But of all this daily drama of.

People write always of the doings of the mind; the. They show it ignoring the body in the philosopher's turret; or. Those great wars which the body. Nor is the reason. To look these things squarely in the face would need the courage.

Short of these, this monster, the body, this miracle, its pain, will. The public would say that a novel devoted to. It invests certain faces with divinity, sets us to. Heaven knows) with a. Finally, to hinder the. English, which can express the thoughts of Hamlet and the tragedy of Lear, has.

It has all grown one way. The merest. schoolgirl, when she falls in love, has Shakespeare or Keats to speak her mind.

There is nothing ready made for him.