She knew, of course that she was being supremely unfair, that Franz was the best man she ever had- he was intelligent, he understood her paintings, he was handsome and good-but the more she thought about it, the more she longed to ravish his intelligence, defile his kindheartedness, and violate his powerless strength

I hate knowing about illness. Whenever I read a medical book, I immediately start to get all the symptoms.

If you find happiness in helping others and keeping them happy, believe me you are a very good hearted country.

There is a coherence in things, a stability; something... is immune from change and shines out... in the face of the flowing, the fleeting, the spectral, like a ruby.

Written By Virginia Woolf

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