New Zealand Literature - Tumblr Posts

“There is surprisingly little to enter, in this immense bright smoky landscape, and what she wants—someplace private, silent, where she can read, where she can think— is not readily available. If she goes to a store or restaurant, she’ll have to perform—she’ll have to pretend to need or want something that does not, in any way, interest her. She’ll have to move in an orderly fashion; she’ll have to examine merchandise and refuse offers of help, or she’ll have to sit at a table, order something, consume it, and leave. If she simply parks her car somewhere and sits there, a woman alone, she’ll be vulnerable to criminals and to those who’ll try to protect her from criminals. She’ll be too exposed; she’ll look too peculiar. Even a library would be too public, as would a park.”

—

Michael Cunningham, from ‘The Hours’, first published in 1998.

“But to have a proper cry over all these things would take a long time. All the same, the time for it had come. She must do it. She couldn’t put it off any longer; she couldn’t wait any more. Where could she go? […].  She couldn’t go home; Ethel was there. It would frighten Ethel out of her life. She  couldn’t sit on a bench anywhere; people would come asking her questions. She couldn't  possibly go back to the gentleman’s flat; she had no right to cry in strangers’ houses. If  she sat on some steps a policeman would speak to her.  Oh, wasn’t there anywhere where she could hide and keep herself to herself and stay as  long as she liked, not disturbing anybody, and nobody worrying her? Wasn’t there anywhere in the world where she could have her cry out—at last? […].  And now it began to rain. There was nowhere.

 ̶  Katherine Mansfield, from ‘Ma Parker’, first published in 1921.

““It’s very quiet now,” she thought. She opened her eyes wide, and she heard the silence spinning its soft endless web.”

— Katherine Mansfield, from ‘Prelude’, first published in 1918.

“Lovely, lovely hair. And such a mass of it. It had the colour of fresh fallen leaves, brown and red with a glint of yellow. When she did it in a long plait she felt it on her backbone like a long snake.”

— Katherine Mansfield, from ‘Prelude’, first published in 1918.

“[…] and then such silence that it seemed some one was listening.”

— Katherine Mansfield, from ‘At the Bay’, first published in 1922.

“And now no sound came from the sea. It breathed softly as if it would draw that tender, joyful beauty into its own bosom.”

— Katherine Mansfield, from ‘At the Bay’, first published in 1922.

"[...] feel sad and full of love."

Katherine Mansfield, from 'Late at Night', first published in 1917.

"I feel so full of love today after having seen the sun rise."

Katherine Mansfield, from a diary entry dated January 5th 1915, featured in 'Complete Works of Katherine Mansfield' (published in 2012)

"I believe in immortality because he is not here, and I long to join him."

Katherine Mansfield, from a diary entry dated October 29th 1915, featured in 'Complete Works of Katherine Mansfield' (published in 2012)

"[...], with all my desire, my will is weak."

Katherine Mansfield, from a diary entry dated February 14th 1916, featured in 'Complete Works of Katherine Mansfield' (published in 2012)

"[...], down to the last detail — the last feeling — "

Katherine Mansfield, from a diary entry dated February 14th 1916, featured in 'Complete Works of Katherine Mansfield' (published in 2012)

"Why am I not writing too? Why, feeling so rich, [...], do I not begin? If only I have the courage to press against the stiff swollen gate all that lies within is mine; why do I linger for a moment?"

Katherine Mansfield, from a diary entry written in 1916, featured in 'Complete Works of Katherine Mansfield' (published in 2012)

“All the same, without being morbid, and giving way to ̶ to memories and so on, I must confess that there does seem to me something sad in life. It is hard to say what it is. I don’t mean the sorrow that we all know, like illness and poverty and death. No, it is something different. It is there, deep down, deep down, part of one, like one’s breathing. However hard I work and tire myself, I have only to stop to know it is there, waiting.”

— Katherine Mansfield, from ‘The Canary’ (1923)