"what sort of diary should i like mine to be? something loose-knit and yet not slovenly, so elastic that it will embrace anything, solemn, slight or beautiful, that comes into my mind. i should like it to resemble some deep old desk or capacious hold-all, in which one flings a mass of odds and ends without looking them through. i should like to come back, after a year or two, and find that the collection had sorted itself and refined itself and coalesced, as such deposits so mysteriously do, into a mould, transparent enough to reflect the light of our life, and yet steady, tranquil compounds with the aloofness of a work of art. the main requisite, i think, on reading my old volumes, is not to play the part of a censor, but to write as the mood comes or of anything whatever; since i was curious to find how i went for things put in haphazard, and found the significance to lie where i never saw it at the time."
-the great virginia woolf
photo by: amanda friedman