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I've mentioned before that I'm reading Virginia Woolf's "The Years". Chapter 1911 ends with:
Again the sense came to her of a ship padding softly through the waves; of a train swinging from side to side down a railway-line. Things can't go on for ever, she thought. Things pass, things change, she thought, looking up at the ceiling. And where are we going? Where? Where? ... The moths were dashing around the ceiling; the book slipped on to the floor. Craster won the pig, but who was it won the silver salver? she mused; made an effort; turned round, and blew out the candle. Darkness reigned.
Eleanor is not just thinking about the immediate changes in her life, but the broader path one takes in life and the changes that happen along the way. Craster was one of a group of people returning from the festival of sorts that she passed earlier in the day. The point being that the events of the day matter little in the end. It's how you live your life along the full path. Did Woolf get too wrapped up in thinking about life and not living it? I don't know if Woolf figured out how to enjoy the train ride of life.
Great post.