“I try to invent you for myself… I can get the sensation of seeing you– hair, lips, colour, height, even, now and then, the eyes and hands, but I find you going off, to walk in the garden, to play tennis, to dig, to sit smoking and talking, and then I cant invent a thing you say– This proves, what I could write reams about– how little we know anyone, only movements and gestures, nothing connected, continuous, profound, But give me a hint I implore.”

Virginia Woolf in a letter to Vita Sackville-West, Sept 7, 1925