“ …this profound stillness…seemed now for no special reason to stay there like smoke, like a fume rising upwards, holding them safe together. Nothing need be said; nothing could be said…there is a coherence in things, a stability; something, she meant, is immune from change, and shines out (she glanced at the window with its ripple of reflected lights) in the face of the flowing, the fleeting, the spectral, like a ruby; so that again tonight she had the feeling she had had once to-day already, of peace, of rest. Of such moments, she thought, the thing is made that remains for ever after. This would remain.
Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse
