"Deep inside, she knew who she was, and that person was smart and kind and often even funny, but somehow her personality got lost somewhere between her heart and her mouth, and she found herself saying the wrong thing or, more often, nothing at all."
"Her voice died away. She sank down on the edge of the bed. She was tired, no doubt, by the stairs, by the heat. “But we have other lives, I think, I hope,” she murmured. “We live in others, Mr… . We live in things." - Virginia Woolf,Between The Acts