‘I need a little language such as lovers use, words of one syllable,’ writes Virginia Woolf in The Waves. ‘I need a howl; a cry… I need no words.’ In The Voyage Out, she writes: ‘I want to write a novel about Silence.’
In the middle of the road there was a stone
there was a stone in the middle of the road
there was a stone
in the middle of the road there was a stone.
Never should I forget this event
in the life of my fatigued retinas.
Never should I forget that in the middle of the road
there was a stone
there was a stone in the middle of the road
in the middle of the road there was a stone.