My own brai…

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?

– Virginia Woolf

Hello, Insomnia. I thought you had left me for good. My thoughts are so loud they wake me up.

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2 thoughts on “My own brai…

  1. It was one of those evenings when men feel that truth, goodness and beauty are one. In the morning, when they commit their discovery to paper, when others read it written there, it looks wholly ridiculous.

    Aldous Huxley

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