Virginia Woolf (1882-1941) verwoordt ze haar gevoelsleven, dat ondanks alle zelfspot en ironie geregeld diepe depressies veroorzaakte. En uiteraard reflecteert ze op personen en gebeurtenissen uit haar persoonlijke leven en uit haar tijdgewricht (maar in onderstaand fragment even niet).
Wednesday, August 17th.
Now I think I have corected the C.R. [haar boek The Second Common Reader] till I can correct no longer. And I have a few minutes'holiday before I need take the proofs in to L. [haar echtgenoot Leonard]. Shall I then describe how I fainted again? - That is the galloping horses got wild in my head last Thursday night as I sat on the terrace with L. How cool it is after the heat! I said. We were watching the downs draw back into the fine darkness after they had burnt like solid emerald all day. Now that was being softly finely veiled. And the white owl was crossing to fetch mice from the marsh. Then
my heart leapt; and stopped; and leapt again; and I tasted that queer bitterness at the back of my throat; and the pulse leapt into my head and beat and beat, more savagely, more quickly. I am going to faint, I said, and slipped off my chair and lay on the grass. Oh no I was not unconscious. I was alive: but possessed with this struggling team in my head: galloping, pounding. I thought something will burst in my brain if this goes on. Slowly it muffled itself. I pulled myself up, and staggered, with what infinite difficulty and alarm, now truly fainting and seeing the garden painfully lengthened and distorted, back, back, back - how long it seemed - to the house: and gained my room and fell on my bed. Then pain, as of childbirth; and then that too slowly faded; and I lay presiding, like a flickering light, like a most solicitous mother, over the shattered splintered fragments of my body. A very acute and unpleasant experience.