...real age, as I came to see from the genuine pieces that passed through my hands, was variable, crooked, capricious, singing here and sullen there, warm asymmetrical streaks on a rosewood cabinet from where a slant of sun had struck it while the other side was as dark as the day it was cut.

I didn’t think they came any bigger than Hudson who was close to this size but not quite as big.

What they forget is that, from Ancient Greece on, the people who returned from battle were either dead on their shields or stronger, despite and because of their scars.

Rigid, the skeleton of habit alone upholds the human frame.

Written By Virginia Woolf

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