Well, it’s been a tough day, having only managed to type up only a few pages of corrections, at least the beautiful weather is holding up! I’ve been enjoying Virginia Woolf’s diary, vol 1, not only does one get a real feel for the type of life she lead; her friends, her work, the war, but one gets a clearer sense of her being, something that you can not absorb through the vast amount of biographies that have been written about her.
Here is a piece written on Tuesday, April 24th 1928 (From A Writer’s Diary)
“A lovely soaring summer day this; winter sent howling home to his arctic. I was reading Othello last night and was impressed by the volley and clime and tumble of his words; too many I should say, were I reviewing for The Times. he put them in when tension was slack. In the great scenes, everything fits like a glove. The mind tumbles and splashes among words when it is not being urged on; I mean, the mind of a very great master of words who is writing with one hand. He abounds. The lesser writer stints. As usual, impressed by Shakespeare. But my mind is very bare to words- English words- at the moment; they hit me, hard, I watch them bounce and spring. I’ve read only French for 4 weeks. An idea comes to me for an article on French; what we know of it.”