Virginia Woolf Quotes
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Without self awareness we are as babies in the cradles.
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Rigid, the skeleton of habit alone upholds the human frame.
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The root of things, what they were all afraid of saying, was that happiness is dirt cheap. You can have it for nothing. Beauty.
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For nothing was simply one thing.
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Nothing, however, can be more arrogant, though nothing is commoner than to assume that of Gods there is only one, and of religions none but the speaker’s.
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The weather varies between heavy fog and pale sunshine; My thoughts follow the exact same process.
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For pleasure has no relish unless we share it.
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Does housekeeping interest you at all? I think it really ought to be just as good as writing and I never see where the separation between the too comes in. At least if you must put books on one side and life on the other, each is a poor and bloodless thing; but my theory is that they mix indistinguishable.
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Come indoors then, and open the books on your library shelves. For you have a library and a good one. A working library, a living library; a library where nothing is chained down and nothing is locked up; a library where the songs of the singers rise naturally from the lives of the livers.
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He began to search among the infinite series of impressions which time had laid down, leaf upon leaf, fold upon fold softly, incessantly upon his brain; among scents, sounds; voices, harsh, hollow, sweet; and lights passing, and brooms tapping; and the wash and hush of the sea.
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When people are happy they have a reserve upon which to draw, whereas she was like a wheel without a tyre
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Clothes are but a symbol of something hid deep beneath.
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Her only gift was knowing people almost by instinct, she thought, walking on. If you put her in a room with someone, up went her back like a cat's; or she purred.
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It is useless to read Greek in translation; translators can but offer us a vague equivalent.
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When the shriveled skin of the ordinary is stuffed out with meaning, it satisfies the senses amazingly.
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Life piles up so fast that I have no time to write out the equally fast rising mound of reflections.
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Besides, in this random miscellaneous company we may rub against some complete stranger who will, with luck, turn into the best friend we have in the world.
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Often on a wet day I begin counting up; what I've read; what I haven't read.
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It was as if someone had taken a tiny bead of pure life and decking it as lightly as possible with down and feathers, had set it dancing and zigzagging to show us the true nature of life.
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Vain trifles as they seem, clothes have, they say, more important offices than to merely keep us warm. They change our view of the world and the world's view of us.
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Neither of us knows what the public will think. There's no doubt in my mind that I have found out how to begin (at forty) to say something in my own voice; and that interests me so that I feel I can go ahead without praise.
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Let us not take for granted that life exists more fully in what is commonly thought big than in what is commonly thought small.
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Nothing induces me to read a novel except when I have to make money by writing about it. I detest them.
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I'm sick to death of this particular self. I want another.