D.H. Lawrence truly said “never trust the teller, trust the tale” (Studies in Classic American Literature, Volume 2, p. 14)

Virginia Woolf recorded the minor, ordinary moments and sensations, as the “myriad impressions--trivial, fantastic, evanescent, or engraved with the sharpness of steel” It is in these common, everyday things that make our ordinary Monday or Tuesday. (Modern Fiction, p. 189) The power to convey the life in their true form, she pursued the rainbow of impressions in the forms of visual everlasting narration to create something timeless. Virginia Woolf did not write about life but she painted life with words. All the time looking at the life and surrounding world in the manner of an artist and thus her novels illuminated and glowed with colors and light reflected in the thoughts of the characters. She did not write straight about the large actions in life, like death or birth, on contrary she stated only in expressions like a garden-fresh morning or joy in conversation, came to be a clue of the true meaning in life. She also recognized the doubts of the jumbled structure of the technique of stream of consciousness and therefore she wisely built up her novels, giving them harmony by means of repeating designs, descriptions, texts, expressions. Even if the personal psychic time led differently beyond measured by clocks, there is always some directing poles that transfer the text onward?

The speedily changed world of the 20th century shapes more and more confusing people and they required to question everything. The frail logic of a meaning, of a purpose of life becomes less and less distinctive, because even life itself was in question. “Is life like this?” (Woolf, Modern Fiction, p.