(no subject)

I started to do homework this afternoon, very stressed, exhausted, and dreading everything that might happen. Then, in my research, I ran across the single recording of Virginia Woolf's voice, and excerpt from her giving a lecture called, "Craftsmanship," and the excerpt is titled "Words Fail Me." Is fantashtick. I love her, love her, love her, even if she is a person of narrow ideals, self-centered concepts, and bourgeoise snobbery. She talks about words. Words live in the mind much like human beings live, ranging hither and thither, mating together, falling in love. The less we inquire into the past of our dear mother English, the better it will be for that lady's reputation, for she has been roving.

Oh! I wish I could find a transcript of it somewhere, because as much as I love listening to her speaking, I would love equally or more to read on each thought at leisure. As it is, I am only listening to it over and over, hoping to have it sink into my memory that way. Ah, I no longer care about anything at all, because words are not a single and seperate entity, it is not a word until it belongs to a sentence, because words belong with each other, as the great poet knows, 'incarnidine' belongs to 'multitudinous seas.'

Joy!