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Masterpieces are not single and solitary births they are the outcome of many years of thinking in common, of thinking by the body of the people, so that the experience of the mass is behind the single voice.

Virginia Woolf

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Virginia Woolf
Age: 59 †
Born: 1882
Born: January 25
Died: 1941
Died: March 28
Author
Autobiographer
Diarist
Essayist
Feminist
Literary Critic
Novelist
Publisher
Short Story Writer
Writer
London
England
Virxhinia Ulf
Virginia yo juanito Adeline Woolf
Virg̔inyah Vold
Virdžiniâ Vulf
Virdzhiniia Vulf
Virzhinia Ulf
Virginia Stephen
Virzhin︠iia Ulf
Adeline Virginia Stephen
Virginyah Volf
Adeline Virginia Woolf
Virginia Adeline Woolf
Adeline Virginia Stephen Woolf
Birtzinia Gulph
Virginia Stephen Woolf
Woolf
Virginia
1882-1941
Body
Birth
Many
Behinds
Births
Years
Behind
Masterpieces
Thinking
Single
Masterpiece
People
Opinion
Outcome
Common
Solitary
Voice
Outcomes
Experience
Mass

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For pleasure has no relish unless we share it.
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How many times have people used a pen or paintbrush because they couldn’t pull the trigger?
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Who shall measure the hat and violence of the poet's heart when caught and tangled in a woman's body?
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It is as if Emily Brontë could tear up all that we know human beings by, and fill these unrecognizable transparencies with such a gust of life that they transcend reality.
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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 phantom for reality.
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Conversation, fastidious goddess, loves blood better than brick, and feasts most subtly on the human will.
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If we didn't live venturously, plucking the wild goat by the beard, and trembling over precipices, we should never be depressed, I've no doubt but already should be faded, fatalistic and aged.
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But it is just when opinions universally prevail and we have added lip service to their authority that we become sometimes most keenly conscious that we do not believe a word that we are saying.
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I have a feeling I shall go mad. I cannot go on longer in these terrible times. I shan't recover this time. I hear voices and cannot concentrate on my work. I have fought against it but cannot fight any longer.
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Mental fight means thinking against the current, not with it. It is our business to puncture gas bags and discover seeds of truth.
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After that, how unbelievable death was! - that is must end and no one in the whole world would know how she had loved it all.
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And all the lives we ever lived and all the lives to be are full of trees and changing leaves.
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I spent an hour looking at pots and carpets in the museums the other day, until the desire to describe them became like the desire for the lusts of the flesh.
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Criticism? An artist wants praise. Praise.
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every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works, yet we require critics to explain the one and biographers to expound the other. That time hangs heavy on people's hands is the only explanation of the monstrous growth.
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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.
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It is useless to read Greek in translation translators can but offer us a vague equivalent.
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Facts must be manipulated some must be brightened others shaded yet, in the process, they must never lose their integrity.
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I am writing to a rhythm and not to a plot.
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For love... has two faces one white, the other black two bodies one smooth, the other hairy. It has two hands, two feet, two tails, two, indeed, of every member and each one is the exact opposite of the other. Yet, so strictly are they joined together
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