But I attach myself only to names and faces; and hoard them like amulets against disaster. I choose out across the hall some unknown face and can hardly drink my tea when she whose name I do not know sits opposite. I choke. I am rocked side to side by the violence of my emotion. I imagine this nameless, these immaculate people, watching me from behind the bushes. I leap high to excite their admiration. At night, in bed, I excite their complete wonder. I often die pierced with arrows to win their tears.
Virginia Woolf, The Waves.