Blame it or praise it, there is no denying the wild horse in us. To gallop intemperably; fall on the sand tired out; to feel the earth spin; to have—positively—a rush of friendship for stones and grasses, as if humanity were over, and as for men and women, let them go hang—there is no getting over the fact that this desire seizes us pretty often.
Virginia Woolf, Jacob’s Room
I wished to add some remarks to this, on the mystical side of this solitude; how it is not oneself but something in the universe that one’s left with. It is this that is frightening and exciting in the midst of my profound gloom, depression, boredom, whatever it is: One sees a fin passing far out. What image can I reach to convery what I mean?
Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry dated 28 September 1926
Some people go to priests; others to poetry; I to my friends.