woolf-wreckage

Literature is strewn with the wreckage of those who have minded beyond reason the opinion of others.

Thought:

“

When ocean-clouds over inland hills
    Sweep storming in late autumn brown,
  And horror the sodden valley fills,
    And the spire falls crashing in the town,
  I muse upon my country’s ills—
  The tempest bursting from the waste of Time
On the world’s fairest hope linked with man’s foulest crime.

“

Herman Melville | “Misgivings”

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