Share
×
Inspirational Quotes
Authors
Professions
Topics
Tags
Quote
For books continue each other, in spite of our habit of judging them separately.
Virginia Woolf
Share
Change background
T
T
T
Change font
Original
TAGS & TOPICS
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
Book
Separately
Spite
Judging
Continue
Habit
Books
More quotes by Virginia Woolf
Life is not a series of gig lamps symmetrically arranged life is a luminous halo, a semi-transparent envelope surrounding us from the beginning of consciousness to the end.
Virginia Woolf
... the transaction between a writer and the spirit of the age is one of infinite delicacy, and upon a nice arrangement between the two the whole fortune of his works depend.
Virginia Woolf
writing is the profound pleasure and being read the superficial.
Virginia Woolf
Indeed, I thought, slipping the silver into my purse, it is remarkable, remembering the bitterness of those days, what a change of temper a fixed income will bring about.
Virginia Woolf
Facts must be manipulated some must be brightened others shaded yet, in the process, they must never lose their integrity.
Virginia Woolf
It is fatal to be a man or woman pure and simple: one must be a woman manly, or a man womanly.
Virginia Woolf
He was a thorough good sort a bit limited a bit thick in the head yes but a thorough good sort. Whatever he took up he did in the same matter-of-fact sensible way without a touch of imagination, without a sparkle of brilliancy, but with the inexplicable niceness of his type.
Virginia Woolf
At 46 one must be a miser only have time for essentials.
Virginia Woolf
The profound difference that divides the human race is a question of bait - whether to fish with worms or not.
Virginia Woolf
So coming back from a journey, or after an illness, before habits had spun themselves across the surface, one felt that same unreality, which was so startling felt something emerge. Life was most vivid then.
Virginia Woolf
There is a sadness at the back of life which some people do not attempt to mitigate. Entirely aware of their own standing in the shadow, and yet alive to every tremor and gleam of existence, there they endure.
Virginia Woolf
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.
Virginia Woolf
It rasped her, though, to have stirring about in her this brutal monster! to hear twigs cracking and feel hooves planted down in the depths of that leaf-encumbered forest, the soul never to be content quite, or quite secure, for at any moment the brute would be stirring, this hatred.
Virginia Woolf
Biography is to give a man some kind of shape after his death.
Virginia Woolf
Criticism? An artist wants praise. Praise.
Virginia Woolf
He thought her beautiful, believed her impeccably wise dreamed of her, wrote poems to her, which, ignoring the subject, she corrected in red ink.
Virginia Woolf
She had the perpetual sense, as she watched the taxi cabs, of being out, out, far out to sea and alone she always had the feeling that it was very, very, dangerous to live even one day.
Virginia Woolf
It is strange how a scrap of poetry works in the mind and makes the legs move in time to it along the road.
Virginia Woolf
Who shall measure the hat and violence of the poet's heart when caught and tangled in a woman's body?
Virginia Woolf
And it was awfully strange, he thought, how she still had the power, as she came tinkling, rustling, still had the power as she came across the room, to make the moon, which he detested, rise at Bourton on the terrace in the summer sky.
Virginia Woolf
