MJ

“Wind and storm colored July. Also, in the middle, cadaverous, awful, lay the grey puddle in the courtyard, when holding an envelope in my hand, I carried a message. I came to the puddle. I could not cross it. Identity failed me. We are nothing, I said, and fell. I was blown like a feather. I was wafted down tunnels. Then very gingerly, I pushed my foot across. I laid my hand against a brick wall. I returned very painfully, drawing myself back into my body over the grey, cadaverous space of the puddle. This is life then to which I am committed.”
― Virginia Woolf, The Waves

“I want to give, to be given, and solitude in which to unfold my possessions.”
― Virginia Woolf, The Waves

“To know and feel all this and not have the words to express it makes a human a grave of his own thoughts.”
― John Donne

“I, who am perpetually making notes in the margin of my mind for some final statement, make this mark, waiting for some winter's evening.”
― Virginia Woolf, The Waves