domingo

by pdrpinho


For now she need not think about anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what she now often felt the need of – to think; all not even to think. To be silent; to be alone. All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others.
Virginia Woolf