WOOLFING # 22

"A vida é como um sonho; É o acordar que nos mata."

Virginia Woolf 

WOOLFING # 21

Em 28 de Março de 1941, Virginia Woolf decidiu encerrar seus 59 anos de angústia e sofrimento ao vestir um belo casaco de pele, encher os bolsos de pedras e se atirar nas frias águas do rio Ouse.

Certa de que teria um terceiro colapso nervoso - nos outros dois, chegou a tentar o suicídio -, estava receosa de que jamais iria se recuperar de mais uma crise. Não conseguia mais escrever e estava receosa com os desdobramentos da Segunda Guerra Mundial, que já tinha bombardeado Londres e tinha destruído a residência do casal Woolf em 1940.

O suicídio foi, ao contrário do que muitos acreditam, foi o seu maior ato de coragem. A carta de despedida endereçada ao marido Leonard Woolf retrata com exatidão o sofrimento de Virginia:

Dearest,

I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can't go through another of those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can't concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don't think two people could have been happier 'til this terrible disease came. I can't fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can't even write this properly. I can't read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that — everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can't go on spoiling your life any longer.

I don't think two people could have been happier than we have been.

 V.

Neste vídeo, a atriz Louise Brealey faz uma leitura dramatizada da carta de Virginia Woolf:

WOOLFING # 20

“But what after all is one night? A short space, especially when the darkness dims so soon, and so soon a bird sings, a cock crows, or a faint green quickens, like a turning leaf, in the hollow of the wave. Night, however, succeeds to night. The winter holds a pack of them in store and deals them equally, evenly, with indefatigable fingers. They lengthen; they darken.” 

                                                                           Virginia Woolf

To the Lighthouse

WOOLFING # 19

Virginia aos 10 anos, em 1902.

WOOLFING # 18

Virginia Woolf e sua cadela Pinker, em Monk's House