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
I think L.A. gets a bad rap. L.A. is the same as everywhere else.
Max Greenfield
Policies are many, Principles are few, Policies will change, Principles never do.
John C. Maxwell
Little kids are that way; they feel if their parents aren't watching what they do then what they do isn't real.
Philip K. Dick
I don't enjoy hitting people; I enjoy outsmarting them.
Jon Jones
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