All Virginia Woolf Quotes
- Nothing could be slow enough, nothing lasts too long. No pleasure could equal, she thought, straightening the chairs, pushing in one book on the shelf,… All
- Never let anybody guess that you have a mind of your own. Above all be pure All
- About here, she thought, dabbling her fingers in the water, a ship had sunk, and she muttered, dreamily half asleep, how we perished, each alone. Alone
- Ruin, weariness, death, perpetually death, stand grimly to confront the other presence of Elizabethan drama which is life: life compact of frigates, fir trees and… Brain
- Anyone who has the temerity to write about Jane Austen is aware of [two] facts: first, that of all great writers she is the most… Act
- To look life in the face, always, to look life in the face, and to know it for what it is...at last, to love it… Face
- But I beneath a rougher sea, And whelmed in deeper gulfs than he. Beneath
- A learned man is a sedentary, concentrated solitary enthusiast, who searches through books to discover some particular grain of truth upon which he has set… Apt
- There is no doubt in my mind, that I have found out how to begin (at 40) to say something in my own voice. Begin
- For they might be parted for hundreds of years, she and Peter; she never wrote a letter and his were dry sticks; but suddenly it… Bitterness
- I prefer men to cauliflowers Cauliflower
- Intellectual freedom depends upon material things. Depends
- To put it in a nutshell, he was afflicted with a love of literature. It was the fatal nature of this disease to substitute a… Afflicted
- A million candles burnt in him without his being at the trouble of lighting a single one Burnt
- Anything may happen when womanhood has ceased to be a protected occupation. Ceased
- It is strange how a scrap of poetry works in the mind and makes the legs move in time to it along the road. Along
- Up here my eyes are green leaves, unseeing. Eye
- The real novelist, the perfectly simple human being, could go on, indefinitely imaging. Go
- Now begins to rise in me the familiar rhythm; words that have lain dormant now lift, now toss their crests, and fall and rise, and… Begins
- And the poem, I think, is only your voice speaking. Inspirational
- The taste for books was an early one. As a child he was sometimes found at midnight by a page still reading. They took his… Almost Burnt
- For once the disease of reading has laid upon the system it weakens so that it falls an easy prey to that other scourge which… Disease
- A woman knows very well that, though a wit sends her his poems, praises her judgment, solicits her criticism, and drinks her tea, this by… Admire
- All the time she writing the world had continued. All
- Was not writing poetry a secret transaction, a voice answering a voice? Answering