Masterpiece Everywhere

The wheelbarrow, the lawnmower,

the sound of poplar trees, leaves whitening

before rain, rooks cawing, brooms knocking, dresses

rustling -- all these were so coloured and distinguished

in his mind that he had already his

private code, his secret language, though he

appeared the image of stark and uncompromising

severity, with his high forehead and his fierce

blue eyes, impeccably candid and pure,

He was incapable

of untruth; never tampered with a fact; never altered

a disagreeable word to suit the pleasure or

convenience of any mortal being, least of all of

his own children, who, sprung from his loins,

should be aware from childhood that life is

difficult; facts uncompromising; and the passage to

that fabled land where our brightest hopes are

extinguished, our frail barks founder in darkness (here

Mr. Ramsay would straighten his back and narrow

his little blue eyes upon the horizon), one that needs,

above all, courage, truth, and the power to endure.

“Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.”