Literature is strewn with the wreckage of men who have minded beyond reason the opinions of others.
Virginia WoolfI’m not clear enough in the head to feel anything but varieties of dull anger and arrows of sadness.
Virginia WoolfLiterature is strewn with the wreckage of men who have minded beyond reason the opinions of others.
Virginia WoolfI’m not clear enough in the head to feel anything but varieties of dull anger and arrows of sadness.
Virginia Woolf