Cliquer sur une vignette pour aller sur Google Books.
Chargement... The Years (The Virginia Woolf Library) (original 1937; édition 1969)par Virginia Woolf (Auteur)
Information sur l'oeuvreLes Années par Virginia Woolf (1937)
Chargement...
Inscrivez-vous à LibraryThing pour découvrir si vous aimerez ce livre Actuellement, il n'y a pas de discussions au sujet de ce livre. aucune critique | ajouter une critique
Appartient à la série éditorialeGallimard, Folio (4651) Prix et récompensesDistinctionsListes notables
The principal theme of this ambitious book is Time, threading together three generations of an upper-class English family, the Pargiters. The characters come and go, meet, talk, think, dream, grow older, in a continuous ritual of life that eludes meaning. Aucune description trouvée dans une bibliothèque |
Discussion en coursAucunCouvertures populaires
Google Books — Chargement... GenresClassification décimale de Melvil (CDD)823.912Literature English English fiction Modern Period 1901-1999 1901-1945Classification de la Bibliothèque du CongrèsÉvaluationMoyenne:
Est-ce vous ?Devenez un(e) auteur LibraryThing. |
Il s'agit d'un beau livre écrit dans le style pluriel propre à l'auteure mais parfaitement compréhensible et lisible.Une fois de plus, Virginia Woolf fait magnifiquement créer des atmosphères, rendre compte de la complexité subtile des pensées et émotions humaines.
Quelques extraits :
“What awful lives children live!” he said, waving his hand at her as he crossed the room. “Don’t they, Rose?” “Yes,” said Rose. “And they can’t tell anybody,” she added."
"Never have I felt so lonely, he thought. The old platitude about solitude in a crowd was true; for hills and trees accept one; human beings reject one."
"Why do we hide all the things that matter? he asked himself."
"There must be another life, here and now, she repeated. This is too short, too broken. We know nothing, even about ourselves. We’re only just beginning, she thought, to understand, here and there. She hollowed her hands in her lap, just as Rose had hollowed hers round her ears. She held her hands hollowed; she felt that she wanted to enclose the present moment; to make it stay; to fill it fuller and fuller, with the past, the present and the future, until it shone, whole, bright, deep with understanding."
Le génie du portrait :
"Her husband looked past her with the sad innocent eyes of an old sporting dog whose hunting days are over."
"It was his Uncle Edward. He had the look of an insect whose body has been eaten out, leaving only the wings, the shell."
"He looked as if his face had been carved and graved by a multitude of fine instruments; as if it had been left out on a frosty night and frozen over. He threw his head back like a horse champing a bit; but he was an old horse, a blue-eyed horse whose bit no longer irked him. His movements were from habit, not from feeling." ( )