February 5, 2012 § Leave a comment
Beauty had this penalty-it came to readily, came too completely. It stilled life-froze it. One forgot the little agitations; the flush, the pallor, some queer distortion, some light or shadow, which made the face unrecognizable for a moment and yet added a quality one saw for ever after. It was simpler to smooth all that out with the cover of beauty.
To The Light House, Virginia Woolf.
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