My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery

Virginia Woolf
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My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery - always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then buried in mud. And why? What's this passion for? ✨ Virginia Woolf, Nigel Nicolson, Joanne Trautmann Banks (1979). The Letters of Virginia Woolf: 1932-1935, Harvest Books
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No sooner have you feasted on beauty with your eyes than your mind tells you that beauty is vain and beauty passes ✨ Virginia Woolf, Michèle Barrett (1979). Women and writing, Womens Pr Ltd
Again, somehow, one saw life, a pure bead. I lifted the pencil again, useless though I knew it to be. But even as I did so, the unmistakable tokens of death showed themselves. The body relaxed, and i … ▶
When the Day of Judgment dawns and people, great and small, come marching in to receive their heavenly rewards, the Almighty will gaze upon the mere bookworms and say to Peter, “Look, these need no r … ▶
It is strange how a scrap of poetry works in the mind and makes the legs move in time to it along the road. ✨ Virginia Woolf (2007). Selected Works of Virginia Woolf, p.571, Wordsworth Editions
I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realises an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thus we don't have complete emotions about the present, only about the past. ✨ Virg … ▶

My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery - always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then buried in mud. And why? What's this passion for? ✨ Virginia Woolf, Nigel Nicolson, Joanne Trautmann Banks (1979). The Letters of Virginia Woolf: 1932-1935, Harvest Books

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