Virginia…oh Virginia…your life has been such an inspiration to me.  Few of her books are left to be read by me…If I could just stop working and indulge myself into reading all the books I adore…I would read different books and the same ones, my beloved ones, over and over again.  Virginia Woolf.  I love the way she describes the seasons, the days, rain, snow…It seems as if you were there, by the window, or better, outside, feeling how the weather divides every single moment…

It was raining in Oxford. The rain fell gently, persistently, making a little chuckling and burbling noise in the gutters. Edward, leaning out of the window, could still see the trees in the college garden, whitened by the falling rain. Save for the rustle of the trees and the rain falling, it was perfectly quiet. A damp, earthy smell came up from the wet ground. Lamps were being lit here and there in the dark mass of the college; and there was a pale-yellowish mound in one corner where lamplight fell upon a flowering tree. The grass was becoming invisible, fluid, grey, like water.  The Years, 1880.  Virginia Woolf,

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