How we cite our quotes: (Chapter.Paragraph)
Quote #4
Leonard looks up at her, still wearing, for a moment, the scowl he has brought to the proofs. It is an expression she trusts and fears, his eyes blazing and impenetrably dark under his heavy brows, the corners of his mouth turned down in an expression of judgment that is severe but not in any way petulant or trivial—the frown of a deity, all-seeing and weary, hoping for the best from humankind, knowing just how much to expect. It is the expression he brings to all written work, including, and especially, her own. (2.8)
Like Clarissa Vaughan, Leonard Woolf is a devoted editor and publisher, and he cares deeply about the cultural and artistic value of great literature. Unlike Clarissa, he tends to scowl and brood grumpily over stacks of proofs.
Quote #5
She stands tall, haggard, marvelous in her housecoat, the coffee steaming in her hand. He is still, at times, astonished by her. She may be the most intelligent woman in England, he thinks. Her books may be read for centuries. He believes this more ardently than does anyone else. And she is his wife. (2.26)
Leonard Woolf's opinion about Virginia Woolf's writing isn't wrong—at least, not that we can see so far. Although it hasn't yet been centuries since Woolf's books were published, we're coming up one the one-century mark now, and she's still going strong.
Quote #6
This morning she may penetrate the obfuscation, the clogged pipes, to reach the gold. She can feel it inside her, an all but indescribable second self, or rather a parallel, purer self. If she were religious, she would call it the soul. It is more than the sum of her intellect and her emotions, more than the sum of her experiences, though it runs like veins of brilliant metal through all three. It is an inner faculty that recognizes the animating mysteries of the world because it is made of the same substance, and when she is very fortunate she is able to write directly through that faculty. (2.28)
For Michael Cunningham's Virginia Woolf, there is nothing better than the moments when her writing seems to emerge from this "parallel, purer self." As the novel's narrator puts it: "Writing in that state is the most profound satisfaction she knows" (2.28).