βFor now she need not think of 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. 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... and this self having shed its attachments was free for the strangest adventures.β
Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse
Love Da Feet
2021-10-11 05:49:53 +0000 UTCChris Jock
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2021-09-12 14:25:00 +0000 UTCGreg Smith
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2021-09-11 16:25:01 +0000 UTCSteven Malc
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