If Woolf creates art through the mystic’s intuition then she, like Yeats, should illustrate a sacrifice of ego in her texts which amounts to an absorption of consciousness into something more obscure and perhaps more significant. In The Waves Woolf juxtaposes consciousness with the natural flux of the ocean tide.
Part of winning the Games depends on how Katniss can manifest a love that she doesn't quite feel for her district partner, Peeta, and the Capital's censorship of the love that she does feel for Rue. Katniss's "real" love -- for Rue -- is the saving love.
The novel was not pleasant to read: overwrought. Yet, reading this novel is a must for anyone interested in gender play during this time in England. I was floored. Here is a heroine -- virtuous, no less -- who throws herself at a married man, drives a husband to suicide, neglects her daughter for love, and blatantly tells off her elders and superiors (men, no less). To say that Courtney is "a romantic enthusiast" as she "melts into tears" at every turn, is a bit of an understatement.
Reading The Sorrows of Satan I felt bad for Ramanez. But then, too, Corelli does not want me to only feel bad for Satan; she wants me to extend my sympathies to Sybil as well -- because the predicaments of Satan and the New Woman are not dissimilar.
At the opening scene of Cary Fukunaga's film my heart sank down into my heels and then, from there, I only stomped the ground with a red face throughout the rest of the film, trying to crush and smother the disappointment and anger that swelled through my body.
The foreboding lifelessness that stretches itself out before Gustav Aschenbach's life can be summarized by a series of words/phrases that arise consistently or at key moments, such as: "red," "false midsummer," or "diseased city."
Despite his stalwart call-to arms in support of hatred, he ends his essay sounding like a wounded child: "It is because pleasure asks a greater effort of the mind to support it than pain; and we turn, after a little idle dalliance, from what we love to what we hate!" I can almost feel Hazlitt sobbing into his cuffs.