Clarissa had a theory in those days—they had heaps of theories, always theories, as young people have. It was to explain the feeling they had of dissatisfaction; not knowing people; not being known. For how could they know each other? You met every day; then not for six months, or years. It was unsatisfactory, they agreed, how little one knew people. But she said, sitting on the bus going up Shaftesbury Avenue, she felt herself everywhere; not "here, here, here," and she tapped the back of the seat; but everywhere. She was all that So that to know her, or anyone, one must seek out the people who completed them; even the places.

 

—Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway