Virginia Woolf’s diary, 1929

Now is life very solid or very shifting? I am haunted by the two contradictions. This has gone on for ever; will last for ever; goes down to the bottom of the…

It is a disgrace indeed; no diary has been left so late in the year. The truth was that we went to Berlin on 16th January, and then I was in bed for three weeks…

Here, having just finished what I call the final revision of Women and Fiction* so that L. can read it after tea, I stop; surfeited. And the pump, which I was so…

Now about this book, The Moths. How am I to begin it? And what is it to be? I feel no great impulse; no fever; only a great pressure of difficulty. Why write it…

I suppose dinner interrupted. And I opened this book in another train of mind —to record the blessed fact that for good or bad I have just set the last correction…

As it is true—I write only for an hour, then rush back feeling I cannot keep my brain on that spin any more—then typewrite, and am done by 12. I will here sum up my…

Oh but I have done quite well so far with Room of One’s Own; and it sells, I think; and I get unexpected letters. But I am more concerned with my Waves. I’ve just…

I read and read and finished I daresay 3 foot thick of MS. read carefully too; much of it on the border, and so needing thought. Now, with this load despatched, I…