Well perhaps it does not mean anything, it just stuck out in my mind, how many times the colors seemed to reapear in the text.
But here are some passages where I have noticed use of the colors.
I will put the actual colors in bold particuarly in the longer passages.
Quote:
The wheelbarrow, the lawnmower, the sound of popular trees, leaves whitening before rain, rooks cawing, brooms knocking, dresses rustling-all these were so coloured and distinguished in his mind that he had already his private code, his secret language, though he appeared the image of stark and uncompromising severity, with his high forehead and his fierce blue eyes, impeccably candid and pure, frowning slightly at the sight of human frailty, so that his mother, watching him guide the scissors neatly around the refrigerator, imagined him all red and ermine on the Bench or directing a stern and momentous enterprise in some crises of public affairs.
Quote:
"But it may be fine-I expect it will be fine," said Mrs. Ramsay, making some little twist of the reddish-brown stocking she was knitting impatiently
.
Quote:
It was September after all, the middle of September, and past six in the evening. So off they strolled down the garden in the usual direction, past the tennis lawn, past the pampas grass, to that break in the thick hedge, guarded by red-hot pokers like brasiers of clear burning coal, between which the blue waters of the bay looked bluer than ever.
Quote:
Knitting her reddish-brown hair stoking, with her head outlined absurdly by the gilt frame, the green shawl which she had tossed over the edge of the frame, and the authenticated masterpiece by Michael Angelo, Mrs. Ramsay smoothed out what had been harsh in her manner a moment before, raised his head and kissed her little boy on the forehead.
Quote:
She stopped knitting; she held the long reddish-brown stocking dangling in her hands a moment.
Quote:
These flowers seemed creditable, Mr. Ramsay said, lowering his gaze and noticing something red, something brown.Yes, but than these she had put in with her own hands, said Mrs. Ramsay. The question was, what happened if she sent the bulbs down; did Kenedy plant them? It was his incurable laziness; she added, moving on. If she stood over him all day long with a spade in her hand, he did sometimes do a stroke of work. So they strolled along, towards the red-hot pokers.
Quote:
It must have happened then, thought Mrs. Ramsay; they are engaged. And for a moment she felt what she had never expected to feel again-jealousy. For her, her husband felt it too-Minta's glow; he liked these girls, these golden-reddish girls, with something flying, something a little wild and harum-scarum about them
Than near the very end, Lilly is sitting on the beach refelcting back:
Quote:
"Mrs. Ramsay! Mrs. Ramsay!" she cried, feeling the old horror come back-to want and want and not to have. Could she inflict it still? And than, quietly as if she refrained, that to become part of ordinary experience, was on a level with the chair, with the table. Mrs. Ramsay-it was part of her perfect goodness-sat there quite simply, in the chair, flicked her needles to and fro, knitted her reddish-brown stoking, case her shadow on the step. There she sat.