from Orlando by V. Woolf –

The pith of his phrases was that while fame impedes and constricts, obscurity wraps about a man like a mist; obscurity is dark, ample and free; obscurity let’s the mind take its way unimpeded. Over the obscure man is poured the merciful diffusion of darkness. None knows where he comes or goes.

…and the delight of having no name, but being like a wave which returns to the deep body of the sea…the church builders built like that, anonymously, needing no thanking or naming, but only their work in the daytime and a little ale perhaps at night.

…

Was not writing poetry a secret transaction, a voice answering a voice…What could have been more secret, she thought, more slow, and like the intercourse of lovers, than the stammering answer she had made all these years to the old crooning song of the woods