Virginia Woolf

Virginia Woolf’s diary, 1941

January

1 January 1941
On Sunday night, as I was reading about the Great fire, in a very accurate detailed book, London was burning. Eight of my city churches destroyed, and the…
9 January 1941
A blank. All frost. Still frost. Burning white. Burning blue. The elms red. I did not mean to describe, once more, the downs in snow; but it came. And I can’t help…
26 January 1941
A battle against depression, rejection (by Harpers of my story and Ellen Terry) routed today (I hope) by clearing out kitchen; by sending the article (a lame one)…

7 February 1941
Why was I depressed? I cannot remember. We have been to Charlie Chaplin. Like the milk girl we found it boring. I have been writing with some glow. Mrs. Thrale is…
16 February 1941
In the wild grey water after last week’s turmoil. I liked the dinner with Dadie best. All very lit up and confidential. I liked the soft grey night at Newnham. We…
26 February 1941
My “higher life” is almost entirely the Elizabethan play. Finished Pointz Hall, the Pageant; the play—finally Between the Acts this morning.