On this day (28 March) in 1941, Virginia Woolf filled the pockets of her overcoat with rocks and walked into the River Ouse near her home. She left this suicide/love letter for her husband Leonard. Dearest, I feel certain I am going mad again. I feel we canāt go through another of those terrible times. And I shanāt recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I canāt 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 donāt think two people could have been happier till this terrible disease came. I canāt 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 canāt even write this properly. I canāt 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 ā 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 canāt go on spoiling your life any longer. I donāt think two people could have been happier than we have been.















