“[words are] the wildest, freest most irresponsible most unteachable of all. Of course you can catch them and sort them and place them in alphabetical order in dictionaries but words do not live in dictionaries, they live in the mind…” – Virginia Woolf
Virginia Woolf’s final letter was found by her husband Leonard on the day she disappeared in 1941. Her body was found some weeks later in the River Ouse, dressed in an overcoat with pockets filled with stones.
In August last year, I described my reaction to just having read To The Lighthouse by Virginia Wolf .
‘It’s as though someone with an advanced intellect from another world has written something totally impartial, yet supremely intuitive about how the human mind processes experiences. It’s just so superior to anything else written.’
As this Virginia Wolf documentary explains ‘Virginia had undoubtedly drawn a lot upon her annual family pilgrimages to St Ives in Cornwell from her early childhood to when she was fourteen. They had given her it seems, her happiest moments. Virginia’s sister Vanessa, recognised in To The Lighthouse an almost perfect recreation of their parents. Her father dominant, but insecure. The mother extraordinarily good…
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