Virginia Woolf’s suicide note, written to her husband Leonard.
On 28 March 1941 Virginia Woolf put on her coat, filled the pockets with rocks and walked into the River Ouse near her home and drowned herself. Her body wasn’t found until 18 April 1941. Her husband burried her cremated remains in their garden.
From my rotting body,
flowers shall grow,
and I am in them,
and that is eternity. —Edvard Munch (via basoaltos)
I am jealous of those who think more deeply, who write better, who draw better, who look better, who live better, who love better than I. — Sylvia Plath (via cad-y)
“Lisa thinks she’s hot shit because she’s a sociopath.”
There was this skinhead that was harrasing her, and she just walked right up to him and said: “I’m more of a man that you’ll ever be. And more of a woman that you’ll ever get.”
