I am no bird; and no net ensnares me.

my all-time favorite classics by women + tbr of the one's that I haven't read yet!

cottonbro studio, Pexels

A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf, 1929

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.