Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
We Are the Words…We Are the Thing Itself by Virginia Woolf
“From this I reach what I might call a philosophy; at any rate it is a constant idea of mine; that behind the cotton wool is hidden a pattern; that we — I mean all human beings — are connected with this; that the whole world is a work of art; that we are parts of the work of art. Hamlet or a Beethoven quartet…
We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect. click to tweet
She: Unedited
let her be, let it pour,
let her twist and turn, let her soar,
let her fail, hell let her burn,