“‘You indulge in no such justifications. You do not fog yourself with rosy clouds, or yellow.
‘Am I right? Have I read the little gesture of your left hand correctly? If so, give me your poems; hand over the sheets you wrote last night in such a fervour of inspiration that you now feel a little sheepish. For you distrust inspiration, yours or mine.’”
— Virginia Woolf, “The Waves”











