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“You see the beetle too carrying off a leaf on its back. It runs this way, then that way, so that even your desire while you watch the beetle, to possess one single thing (it is Louis now) must waver, like the light in and out of the beech leaves; and the words, moving darkly, in the depths of your mind will break up this knot of hardness, screwed in your pocket-handkerchief.” — Virginia Woolf
You see the beetle too carrying off a leaf on its back. It runs this way, then that way, so that even your desire while you watch the beetle, to possess one single thing (it is Louis now) must waver, like the light in and out of the beech leaves; and the words, moving darkly, in the depths of your mind will break up this knot of hardness, screwed in your pocket-handkerchief.