The mind is the most capricious of insects — flitting, fluttering. – Virginia Woolf
Yet it is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top. – Virginia Woolf

The mind is the most capricious of insects — flitting, fluttering. – Virginia Woolf
Yet it is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top. – Virginia Woolf
Those comfortably padded lunatic asylums which are known, euphemistically, as the stately homes of England. – Virginia Woolf
Each has his past shut in him like the leaves of a book shown to him by heart, and his friends can only read the title. – Virginia Woolf