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Virginia Woolf
My own brain...
My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery --always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then...
It is in...
It is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top.
We all indulge...
We all indulge in the strange, pleasant process called thinking, but when it comes to saying, even to someone...
One likes people...
One likes people much better when they're battered down by a prodigious siege of misfortune than when they...
On the outskirts...
On the outskirts of every agony sits some observant fellow who points.
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