The Waves

by Virginia Woolf

Nothing should be named lest by so doing we change it.

I do not know myself sometimes, or how to measure and name and count out the grains that make me what I am.

And while you gesticulate, with your cloak, your cane, I am trying to expose a secret told to nobody yet; I am asking you (as I stand with my back to you) to take my life in your hands and tell me whether I am doomed always to cause repulsion in those I love?