Jefferson Market Garden, West Village

"  What is meant by " reality " ?  It would seem to be something very erratic, very undependable--now to be found in a dusty road, now in a scrap of newspaper in the street, now in a daffodil in the sun.  It lights up a group in a room and stamps some casual saying.  It overwhelms one walking home  beneath the stars and makes the silent world more real than the world of speech and then there it is again in an omnibus in the uproar of Piccadilly.  "

                         Virginia Woolf,
                         A Room of One's Own