I’m sure I’ve said it before, probably on this blog, that Virginia Woolf, walker though she may well have been, is not an open book to me. Nevertheless I happened to come across a paperback copy of her A Writer’s Diary, opened it pretty much at random and immediately found this passage:
Monday October 25th, 1920
“Why is life so tragic: so like a little strip of pavement over an abyss. I look down; I feel giddy; I wonder how I am ever to walk to the end.”
I thought that was a pretty good find. So imagine my angst on discovering that a version of that quotation is all over the interwebs, often superimposed on some cutesy New Agey background.
Enough to make you want to walk into a river, almost.