I am to be broken. I am to be derided all my life. I am to be cast up and down among these men and women, with their twitching faces, with their lying tongues, like a cork on a rough sea. Like a ribbon of weed I am flung far everytime the door opens. I am the foam that sweeps and fills the uttermost rims of the roks with whiteness; I am also a girl, here in this room.
Virginia Woolf, The Waves
Was there no safety? No learning by heart the ways of the world? No guide, no shelter, but all was miracle, and leaping from the pinnacle of a tower into the air? Could it be, that this was life? - startling, unexpected, unknown? For one moment she felt that if they both got up, here, now on the lawn, and demanded an explanation, why was it so short, why was it so inexplicable, said it with violence, as two fully equipped human beings from whom nothing should be hid might speak, then beauty would roll itself up; the space would fill; those empty flourishes would form into shape; if only they shouted loud enough. Her eyes filled with tears.
Virginia Woolf, To The Lighthouse (via violentwavesofemotion)