when i sing she doesn't care;
when i whistle she looks at me expectantly
"My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery - always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then buried in mud. And why? What's this passion for?"
..how strange that i should be working on an idea for sissinghurst garden and spent last night searching the internet for pictures of the house, vita and of course by default virginia. went to bed reading vanessa's biography...
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