For now she need not think about anybody.
She could be herself, and that was what now, she often
felt the need of - to think; well not even to think.
To be silent; to be alone. All the being and the doing,
expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated...
Although she continued to knit, and sat upright, it was
thus that she felt herself; and this self having
shed its attachments was free for the strangers adventures.
From To The Lighthouse, Virginia Woolf, 1927
In Virginia Woolf's Monk's House in Rodmell
