“For now, she need not think about anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of – to think; well not even to think. To be silent; to be alone. All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself; a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others…Not as oneself did one find rest ever, in her experience, but as a wedge of darkness. Losing personality, losing the fret, the hurry, the stir; and there rose to her lips always some exclamation of triumph over life when things came together in this peace, this rest, this eternity.” – Virginia Woolf