“You come and see me among flowers and pictures, and think me mysterious, romantic, and all the rest of it. Being yourself very inexperience and very emotional, you go home and invent a story about me, and now you can’t separate me from the person you’ve imagined me to be. You call that, I suppose, being in love; as a matter of fact it’s being in delusion. All romantic people are the same,” she added. “My mother spends her life in making stories about the people she’s fond of. But I won’t have you do it about me, if I can help it.”
“You can’t help it,” he said.
“I warn you it’s the source of all evil.”
“And of all good,” he added.”

Virginia Woolf, Night and Day (via seabois)