— Virginia Woolf,Between The Acts (via seabois)
(Source: fuckyeahvirginiawoolf, via seabois)
"Her voice died away. She sank down on the edge of the bed. She was tired, no doubt, by the stairs, by the heat. “But we have other lives, I think, I hope,” she murmured. “We live in others, Mr… . We live in things."
Posted 11 months ago / 132 notes