Virginia Woolf Quotes
Top 100 wise famous quotes and sayings by Virginia Woolf
Virginia Woolf Famous Quotes & Sayings
Discover top inspirational quotes from Virginia Woolf on Wise Famous Quotes.
Why, if it was an illusion, not praise the catastrophe, whatever it was, that destroyed illusion and put truth in it's place?
It appeared that nobody ever said a thing they meant, or ever talked of a feeling they felt, but that was what music was for.
The strange thing on looking back was the purity, the integrity of her feeling for Sally. It was not like one's feeling for a man.
London thou art a jewel of jewels, & jasper of jocunditie -- music, talk, friendship, city views, books, publishing, something central & inexplicable.
It is much more important to be oneself than anything else. Do not dream of influencing other people ... Think of things in themselves.
Virginia Woolf had to ask herself How can one weigh and shape dialogue till each sentence tears the shingles in the bottom of the reader's soul?
It is strange how a scrap of poetry works in the mind and makes the legs move in time to it along the road.
I thought how unpleasant it is to be locked out; and I thought how it is worse, perhaps, to be locked in.
There is nothing staid, nothing settled, in this universe. All is ripling,
all is dancing; all is quickness and triumph.
all is dancing; all is quickness and triumph.
How much, let me note, depends upon trousers; the intelligent head is entirely handicapped by shabby trousers.
I got out this diary and read, as one always reads one's own writing; with a kind of guilty intensity.
This diminished the entire joy, the pure joy, of the two notes sounding together, and let the sound die on her ear now with a dismal flatness.
I want the concentration and the romance, and the worlds all glued together, fused, glowing: have no time to waste any more on prose.
Fending for oneself alone on a desert island is really no laughing matter. It is no crying one either
For she had come to feel that it was the only thing worth saying
what one felt. Cleverness was silly. One must simply say what one felt.
what one felt. Cleverness was silly. One must simply say what one felt.
To be myself (I note) I need the illumination of other people's eyes, and therefore cannot be entirely sure what is my self.
Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.
Habits gradually change the face of one's life as time changes one's physical face; & one does not know it.
As an experience, madness is terrific ... and in its lava I still find most of the things I write about.
Now, aged 50, I'm just poised to shoot forth quite free straight and undeflected my bolts whatever they are.
No doubt we should be, on the whole, much worse off than we are without our astonishing gift for illusion.
In this case, a mother, noted for her beauty, might be reduced to a purple shadow ... (Tansley to Lily on her painting of the house & grounds)
Literature had taken possession even of her memories. She was matching him, presumably, with certain characters in the old novels ...
Here, she felt, putting the spoon down, was the still space that lies about the heart of things, where one could move or rest ...
One must own that there are certain books which can be read without the mind and without the heart, but still with considerable enjoyment.
It is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes makes its way to the surface.
One likes people much better when they're battered down by a prodigious siege of misfortune than when they triumph.
A whole lifetime was too short to bring out, the full flavour; to extract every ounce of pleasure, every shade of meaning.
You cannot, it seems, let children run about the streets. People who have seen them running wild in Russia say that the sight is not a pleasant one.
It was only by scorning all she met that she kept herself from tears, and the friction of people brushing past her was evidently painful.
I'm not clear enough in the head to feel anything but varieties of dull anger and arrows of sadness.
The body after long illness is languid, passive, receptive of sweetness, but too weak to contain it.
Millions of things came back to her. Atoms danced apart and massed themselves. But how did they compose what people called a life?
But the Daily Mail isn't to be trusted," Jacob said to himself, looking about for something else to read.