
Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own

Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own
After years of marriage, he stands at the foot of the bed and
tells his wife that she will never know him, that for everything
he says there is more that he does not say, that behind each
word he utters there is another word, and hundreds more be-
hind that one. All those unsaid words, he says, contain his true
self, which has been betrayed by the superficial self before her.
“So you see,” he says, kicking off his slippers, “I am more than
what I have led you to believe I am.” “Oh, you silly man,” says
his wife, “of course you are. I find that just thinking of you
having so many selves receding into nothingness is very excit-
ing. That you barely exist as you are couldn’t please me more.”MARK STRAND
Salman Rushdie
The world, as such, is understood as an ever-folding and unfolding multiplicity, of the infinite number of monads of which it is composed: a world is as many monads as it takes to make a world.
Kiki Smith, Untitled, 1987-90
vs
Yoko Ono, We Are All Water’, 2015

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