Thursday, August 9, 2012

Dreams trapped in purple perfume bottles.

In her rare moments of sanity, she picked out fresh flowers and curled her hair. She cut the chicken, marinated it and put the baby to sleep. Then she dressed prudently and met friends for lunch.


Monday 25 October (first day of wintertime)

Why is life so tragic; so like a strip of pavement over an abyss.I look down; I feel giddy; I wonder how I'm ever to walk to the end. But why do I feel like this? Now that I say it I don't feel it...Melancholy diminishes as I write. Why then don't I write it down oftener? Well, one's vanity forbids. I want to appear a success even to myself...I think too much of whys and wherefores: too much time of myself. I don't like time to flap around me...

-Virginia Woolf, 1920
                                                                                 

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