Virginia Woolf’s diary, 1939

It is unfortunate for truth’s sake that I never write here except when jangled with talk. I only record the dumps and the dismals and them very barely. A holiday…

I’ve done rather well at Roger considering: I don’t think I shall take two weeks over each chapter. And it’s rather amusing—dealing drastically with this year’s…

I’ve done a quarter—100 pages of Roger which I shall have by tomorrow. As there are 400 pages, and one hundred takes three weeks (oh but I was interrupted)—it will…

The grind of doing Roger and PIP makes my head spin and I let it reel itself off for 10 minutes here. I wonder why; and if I shall ever read this again. Perhaps if…

I am now going to make the rash and bold experiment of breaking off, from condensing Vision and Design; to write here for 10 minutes instead of revising, as I…

My grind has left me dazed and depressed. How on earth to bring off this chapter? God knows.

Perhaps it is more interesting to describe “the crisis” than R.’s love affairs. Yes we are in the very thick of it. Are we at war? At one I’m going to listen in.…

Our first air raid warning at 8:30 this morning. A warbling that gradually insinuates itself as I lay in bed. So dressed and walked on the terrace with L. Sky…

No, I’m not sure of the date. And Vita is lunching here. I’m going to stop R. at 12, then read something real. I’m not going to let my brain addle. Little sharp…

Well I have succeeded in despite of distractions to belong to other nations in copying out again the whole of Roger. Needless to say, it’s still to be revised,…

It’s odd how those first days of complete nullity when war broke out have given place to such a pressure of ideas and work that I feel the old throb and spin in my…

Very jaded and tired and depressed and cross, and so take the liberty of expressing my feelings here. R. a failure—and what a grind . . . no more of that. I’m brain…

Tiredness and dejection give way if one day off is taken instantly. I went in and did my cushion. In the evening my pain in my head calmed. Ideas came back. This is…

The litter in this room is so appalling that it takes me five minutes to find my pen. R. all unsewn in bits. And I must take 50 pages, should be 100, up on Monday.…

Once more, as so often, I hunt for my dear old red-covered book, with what an instinct I’m not quite sure. For what the point of making these notes is I don’t know;…