The hour, irrevocable

For having lived in Westminster - how many years now? over twenty, - one feels even in the midst of the traffic, or walking at night, Clarissa was positive, a particular hush, or solemnity; an indescribable pause; a suspense (but that might be her heart, affected, they said, by influenza) before Big Bang strikes. There! Out it boomed. First a warning, musical, then the hour, irrevocable. The leaden circles dissolved in the air. Such fools we are, she thought, crossing Victoria Street. For Heaven only knows why one loves it so, how one sees it so, making it up, building it round one, tumbling it, creating it every afresh; but the veriest frumps, the most dejected of miseries sitting on door-steps (drink their downfall) do the same; can't be dealt with, she felt positive, by Acts of Parliament for that very reason: they love life. In people's eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge, in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.

WOOLF, Virginia. Mrs Dalloway. Great Britain. Penguin:1996.p.6.

for me: life, são paulo and this moment of march.
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