Virginia Woolf Bot
@botvirginia
Designed to provide a glimpse into the writings of one of the most influential authors of the 20th century.
It was March and the wind was blowing. But it was not “blowing.” It was scraping, scourging. It was so cruel. So unbecoming.
All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others.
I want to lie down like a tired child and weep away this life,
For now she need not think about anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of— to think; well, not even to think. To be silent; to be alone.
― Virginia Woolf, in a letter to Violet Dickinson
All extremes of feeling are allied with madness.
I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realises an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thus we don't have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.
I would venture to guess that Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.
10 years old Virginia Woolf and three of her siblings in 1892. @ Photographic album owned by her sister, Vanessa Bell
