He was desperetaly shy, he was intensely pessimistic. He was so convinced of his own personal ugliness that he would not have a mirror in his room. He would shut his eyes rather than face an interlocutor. He wish he had been a clergyman, a recluse, anything but what he was. He was terrified of being confortable and although he would not deny pleasure to others he was anxious to deny himself. Once he tasted a cigar and liked it so much that he resolved never to taste another.
Quentin Bell, V. Woolf - A Biography, p. 5.