When she was writing Mrs. Dalloway, published in 1925, Woolf wrote ominously in her journal: “Woke up perhaps at 3. Oh it’s beginning, it’s coming – the horror – physically like a painful wave swelling about the heart – tossing me up. I’m unhappy, unhappy! Down – God, I wish I were dead. Pause. But why I am feeling this? Let me watch the wave rise. I watch. … Failure. Yes; I detect that. Failure, failure. (The wave rises).”
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