When, however, one reads of a witch being ducked, of a woman possessed by devils, of a wise woman selling herbs, or even of a very remarkable man who had a mother, then I think we are on the track of a lost novelist, a suppressed poet, of some mute and inglorious Jane Austen, some Emily Brontë who dashed her brains out on the moor or mopped and mowed about the highways crazed with the torture that her gift had put her to. Indeed, I would venture to guess that Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.
—Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own (1929)
Showing posts with label anonymous. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anonymous. Show all posts
essentially anonymous
A work of art has an author, and yet, when it is perfect, there is something essentially anonymous about it. It imitates the anonymity of divine art.
—Simone Weil, The Simone Weil Reader (David McKay, 1977), ed. George Panichas
—Simone Weil, The Simone Weil Reader (David McKay, 1977), ed. George Panichas
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