Virginia Woolf Quotes
-
Life would split apart without letters.
-
As an experience, madness is terrific ... and in its lava I still find most of the things I write about.
-
When people are happy they have a reserve upon which to draw, whereas she was like a wheel without a tyre
-
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.
-
For if Chloe likes Olivia and Mary Carmichael knows how to express it she will light a torch in that vast chamber where nobody has yet been.
-
Indeed there has never been any explanation of the ebb and flow in our veins--of happiness and unhappiness.
-
A masterpiece is something said once and for all, stated, finished, so that it's there complete in the mind, if only at the back.
-
The flower bloomed and faded. The sun rose and sank. The lover loved and went. And what the poets said in rhyme, the young translated into practice.
-
But how entirely I live in my imagination; how completely depend upon spurts of thought, coming as I walk, as I sit; things churning up in my mind and so making a perpetual pageant, which is to be my happiness.
-
Life piles up so fast that I have no time to write out the equally fast rising mound of reflections.
-
For nothing was simply one thing.
-
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 a daffodil in the sun. It lights up a group in a room and stamps some casual saying
-
Rigid, the skeleton of habit alone upholds the human frame.
-
And the poem, I think, is only your voice speaking.
-
Fatigue is the safest sleeping draught.
-
If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people.
-
I am not so gifted as at one time seemed likely.
-
You have been in every way all that anyone could be.... If anybody could have saved me it would have been you.
-
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.
-
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.
-
So he was deserted. The whole world was clamouring: Kill yourself, kill yourself, for our sakes. But why should he kill himself for their sakes? Food was pleasant; the sun hot; and this killing oneself, how does one set about it, with a table knife, uglily, with floods of blood, - by sucking a gaspipe? He was too weak; he could scarcely raise his hand. Besides, now that he was quite alone, condemned, deserted, as those who are about to die are alone, there was a luxury in it, an isolation full of sublimity; a freedom which the attached can never know.
-
I ride rough waters, and shall sink with no one to save me.
-
Let us not take for granted that life exists more fully in what is commonly thought big than in what is commonly thought small.
-
In people's eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment in June.