An old Ukrainian proverb warns, “A tale that begins with a beet will end with the devil.” That is a risk we have to take.

If any man has a ghost Bourne has a ghost a tiny twisted unscared ghost in a black cloak  hopping along the grimy old brick and brownstone streets still left in downtown New York, crying out in a shrill soundless giggle: War is the health of the State.

My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery - always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then buried in mud. And why? What's this passion for?

Written By Virginia Woolf

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