Winter is upon us; fog, frost, every horror. One creeps about the house longing only for bed. Even without a cold, one’s nose drips
perpetually.
The Letters of Virginia Woolf, Vol. 2, 492
I dislike these months.
The Diary of Virginia Woolf, Vol. 3, 177
But then, too, I have always liked the frozen water and the closed buds.
The Letters of Virginia Woolf, Vol. 3, 212
Alice Lowe
Catherine
Kaylee Baucom
Paula Maggio
Stefano Rozzoni
seanmcphail
suzannebellamy1
veronikakra
Vara Neverow
William Patrick Wend
Zoe Wolstenholme
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