The helplessness of his attitude roused me. It flashed upon me that he was in difficulties; he could no longer raise himself; his legs struggled vainly. But, as I stretched out a pencil, meaning to help him to right himself, it came over me that the failure and awkwardness were the approach of death. I laid the pencil down again.
The Death of the Moth and Other Essays (The Original Unabridged 1942 Edition of 28 Essays)
·
Virginia Woolf
