#virgina woolf

[joytri]

My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.

Virginia Woolf

[fromdarzaitoleeza]

Kim Addonizio, from 'The Women', Wild Nights: New and Selected Poems/excerpt from 'The Complete Works: The Diary,' Virginia Woolf

[fawnsky]

you want to fuck him i want to unzip his flesh and crawl inside him and hide there forever

[marmialadee]

[sinligh]

It’s early summer,

the hopeless romantic in me found her way to the surface when the heat melted couple of my overprotective layers.

so here i am, allowing her a moment of spotlight and myself some vulnerability.

it’s past midnight, I’m sitting in floor of my kitchen eating fruits with a knife

wondering, if it’s really safe to romanticize life?

I indulge myself anyway, and think about how fruits can be considered a love language if you’re starved enough to taste love that’s throughly stained with muted apologies. 

I trust, that when the sun rises tomorrow all my attempts to romanticize life will sublimate and create a thick fog of melancholy that I’ll have no other option but to get lost into.

even so, tonight I’m tired enough to let it be and so i write this, my own report of pathology

officially it’s untitled, but I’m thinking: the pathology of love.

i start by resecting pieces of all the habits that i define my existence based on along with some of the heartache that i held onto for too long

deep down, i know some of it belongs to my mother

At least its mature flavor says so, that, balanced with the sweet essence of an overly ripe fruit that never belonged

Young and brash and an acquired taste.

it’s a poorly fixed microscopic tissue, preserved in a high percentage of feminine rage

Low expectations stained with love and paranoia alike and the question that asks itself:

is it benign or malignant?

is it infiltrating my soul, taking away from my potential to grow ?

It stays unanswered, an unforced error

because i always carry those little versions of me that vary in the percentage of their belief in my own bone marrow

a core biopsy will always show that i still believe.

•••

•Quotes: Anaïs Nin/ Sylvia Plath/ Virgina Woolf/ Franz Kafka/Marcel Proust/ Simone de Beauvoir/Anne Carson/ Andrea Gibson/Anaïs Nin

•Original context:

•Art reference:

1. British School - Head of a girl, c. 1850. 2. Painting ( details) by Richard E. Miller. 3. Paintings by Jen Mazza. 4. Neil Carroll Original Oil Painting Realism Impressionism. 5. The Gross Clinic (details), by Thomas Eakins 6. Wounds of the Earth by xis.lanyx. 7.painting by Herbert James Draper.

[bazzys]

The Charleston House

Home of the Bloomsbury Group

[blossomingthornqueen]

"She did not want to move, or to speak. She wanted to rest, to lean, to dream. She felt very tired."

- Virginia Woolf

[sversify]

"I am made and remade continually. Different people draw different words from me."

Virginia Woolf, The Waves

[eastofedean]

And you are both: the man who desperately wants to go home and the haunted house everybody seems to run away from.

[virginia woolf, a passionate apprentice: the early journals, 1897-1909 || dark side of the moon, supernatural || pilot, supernatural || home, supernatural || anna kamienska || maya angelou || james baldwin, giovanni's room || zen cho, the four generations of chang E || tasyn muir, harrow the ninth (the locked tomb) || skin, supernatural || what is and what should never be, supernatural || unknown || rachel mckibbens, outhouse || donna tartt, the goldfinch || charles wright, meditation on form and measure || gregory orr, origin of the marble forest]

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

Virginia Woolf, Night and Day

[joytri]

in my sylvia plath, tortured poet, the lakes, jo march, dead poets society, albert camus, folklore, evermore, metamorphosis, dostovesky era

[fromdarzaitoleeza]

Virginia Woolf’s Handwritten Suicide Note: A Painful and Poignant Farewell (1941)

[Dearest,

I feel certain I am going mad again. I feel we can’t go through another of those terrible times. And I shan’t recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can’t concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don’t think two people could have been happier till this terrible disease came. I can’t fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can’t even write this properly. I can’t read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that – everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can’t go on spoiling your life any longer.

I don’t think two people could have been happier than we have been.]

Her suicide note, written to her husband Leonard, is a haunting and beautiful document, in all its unadorned sincerity behind which much turmoil and anguish lie. you can hear a dramatic reading of Woolf’s note, such a wrenching missive because it is not a farewell to the world at large, but rather to a trusted friend and lover.

[fawnsky]

she feels every emotion so deeply the simplest things bring her to tears

her heart is too big for her body

her soul, too gentle for this world

[marmialadee]

Happy Valentine’s Day <3 another day laying in bed watching pride n prejudice

[monainthecatacombs]

[that-one-girls-blog-posts]

how do I get over the fear of actually using those pretty notebooks I keep buying