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Virginia Woolf's "A Room of Her Own" was my book of sleep.
I couldn't get past the first 30 pages. It's the ONLY book that I've tried, and failed, to read more than once. I simply could NOT do it.
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"The time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of many things. Of shoes, of ships, of sealing wax, of cabbages, of kings! Of why the sea is boiling hot, of whether pigs have wings..."
"I have a problem with low self-esteem. Which is really ridiculous when you consider how amazing I am.
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