woolfdaily:

“I can sit alone by an open window for hours if I like, and hear only bird songs, and the rustle of leaves. The trees are pure gold and orange,”

— Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Violet Dickinson wr. c. October 1904

woolfdaily:

“Do you remember a night when I came along the dark passage to your room in a thunderstorm and we lay talking about whether we were afraid of death or not? That is the sort of occasion on which the things I want to say to you,–and to you only,–get said.”

— Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Vita Sackville-West written c. June 1933

macrolit:

“…I had the trick of survival, of being able to hide in silent places.”

— The English Patient, Michael Ondaatje (via existential-celestial)

(via good-now-kiss-me)