Virginia Woolf Quotes
A thing there was that mattered; a thing, wreathed about with chatter, defaced, obscured in her own life, let drop every day in corruption, lies, chatter. This he had preserved. Death was defiance. Death was an attempt to communicate; people feeling the impossibility of reaching the centre which, mystically, evaded them; closeness drew apart; rapture faded, one was alone. There was an embrace in death.
Virginia Woolf
Quotes to Explore
I could have probably built a great career in management consulting, but one of the insights that I had early on is that just because you're good at something doesn't mean that you should continue to do it. Somewhere in my heart of hearts I knew it wasn't what I wanted to do.
Imran Amed
I don't think I could ever give up music. It's what makes me tick. If there was no music, there would be no writing.
Maggie Stiefvater
I had rather have a plain, russet-coated Captain, that knows what he fights for, and loves what he knows, than that which you call a Gentle-man and is nothing else.
Oliver Cromwell
The more research you do, the more at ease you are in the world you're writing about. It doesn't encumber you, it makes you free.
A. S. Byatt
As a race, the Negroes are not lazy.
W. E. B. Du Bois
With all of their benefits, and there are many, one of the things I regret about e-books is that they have taken away the necessity of trawling foreign bookshops or the shelves of holiday houses to find something to read. I've come across gems and stinkers that way, and both can be fun.
Joanne Rowling
It is very a dangerous thing to have an idea that you will not practice.
Phyllis Bottome
I'm glad I started so young, because you are really able to endure so much at that age.
Debbie Gibson
The process of writing a story isn't about fair. It's about getting to the heart of your story, getting to the truth of it. It transcends ideals of fair and unfair, right and wrong.
Lynn Coady
Through imagination, thanks to the subtleties of the irreality function, we re-enter the world of confidence, the world of the confident being, which is the proper world for reverie.
Gaston Bachelard
I always have a backpack. I was a poet, so it reminds me of being a backpack poet.
Omari Hardwick
A thing there was that mattered; a thing, wreathed about with chatter, defaced, obscured in her own life, let drop every day in corruption, lies, chatter. This he had preserved. Death was defiance. Death was an attempt to communicate; people feeling the impossibility of reaching the centre which, mystically, evaded them; closeness drew apart; rapture faded, one was alone. There was an embrace in death.
Virginia Woolf