"Nothing could be seen whole or read from the start to finish. What was seen begun -like two friends starting to meet each other across the street - was never seen ended. After twenty minutes the body and mind were like scraps of torn paper tumbling from a sack, and, indeed, the process of motoring fast out London so much resembles the chopping up small of identity which precedes unconsciousness and perhaps death itself that it is an open question in what sense Orlando can be said to have existed at the present moment"
Virginia Woolf, Orlando: A Biography, 217
(quoted by A. Assmann, Das Ordnen der Zeit, 178)