The Years - Tumblr Posts
Hello Epic enjoyers. have a Penelope sketch I did at like 2 am . The Ithaca saga is gonna kill me
Other versions under the line + ramble
Love how this fandom draws Penelope as a grown woman. Forgot to give her her grey hairs on this but. Wrinkles, her hair up, her make up looking like makeup on her skin- imperfects in her skin, it's refreshing
It was a summer evening; the sun was setting; the sky was blue still, but tinged with gold, as if a thin veil of gauze hung over it, and here and there in the gold-blue amplitude an island of cloud lay suspended.
Virginia Woolf, The Years
Apart from the ballerina flats, nothing in the appearance of this teenage girl reflects what was 'all the rage' that year or what was in the fashion magazines and the big-city shops, long plaid midi skirts, black jumpers, and chunky lockets, ponytails and a fringe like Audrey Hepburn's in Roman Holiday. The photo could easily date from the late forties or early sixties. For those born later it is simply old, and belongs to the prehistory of self, where all lives that precede one's own are levelled and disappear. Yet the beam that lights one side of the girl's face and the jumper, between the breasts, was for her a sensation of heat from the June sun of a year that no historian, or anyone else who lived at the time, could mistake for any other than 1955. Maybe she does not perceive the gap that separates her from other girls in her class, the ones with whom it would be unimaginable to have her picture taken. The gap between them can be seen in their respective diversions, how they spend their time outside of school, and their general way of life, which set her apart as much from the well-off girls as from those employed in offices and workshops. Or perhaps she has a good idea of the gap but doesn't give it a thought. She has never been to Paris, one hundred and forty kilometres away, or to a surpat. She doesn't have a record player. While doing homework, she listens to songs on the radio, copies the lyrics into a notebook, and carries them inside her head for days while walking or sitting in class, toi qui disais qui disais que tu l'aimais, tu l'aimais, tu l'aimais qu'as-tu fait de ton amour pour qu'il pleure sous la pluie.
The Years by Annie Ernaux
“She came out on the top. The wind ceased; the country spread wide all round her. Her body seemed to shrink; her eyes to widen.”
— Virginia Woolf, from ‘The Years’, originally published in 1937.
“[…] to protect the extraordinary feeling of happiness that still remained with her. Covered up from observation it might survive, she felt.”
— Virginia Woolf, from ‘The Years’, originally published in 1937.