Virginia Woolf (25 January 1882 – 28 March
1941)
On 28 March 1941, Woolf put on her overcoat, filled its pockets with stones, walked into the River Ouse
In her last
note to her husband she wrote:
"Dearest,
I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can't go through another of
those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voices,
and I can't concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You
have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all
that anyone could be. I don't think two people could have been happier 'til
this terrible disease came. I can't fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling
your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can't
even write this properly. I can't read. What I want to say is I owe all the
happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and
incredibly good. I want to say that—everybody knows it. If anybody could have
saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty
of your goodness. I can't go on spoiling your life any longer. I don't think
two people could have been happier than we have been. V"
