She faced that possibility as she might the toy street from a high balcony, roller-coaster ride, feeding-time among the beasts in a zoo—any death-wish that can be consummated by some minimum gesture.

Fiordland, a vast tract of mountainous terrain that occupies the south-west corner of South Island, New Zealand, is one of the most astounding pieces of land anywhere on God's earth, and one's first impulse, standing on a cliff top surveying it all, is simply to burst into spontaneous applause.

We are born in a clear field and die in a dark forest.

To let oneself be carried on passively is unthinkable. ‘That’s your course, world,’ one says, ‘mine is this.

Written By Virginia Woolf

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