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Often on a wet day I begin counting up what I've read what I haven't read.

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
Haven
Begin
Read
Often
Wet
Counting
Havens

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So that is marriage, Lily thought, a man and a woman looking at a girl throwing a ball
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A feminist is any woman who tells the truth about her life
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Life stand still here.
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There is no doubt in my mind, that I have found out how to begin (at 40) to say something in my own voice.
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The compensation of growing old ... was simply this that the passion remains as strong as ever, but one has gained -- at last! -- the power which adds the supreme flavour to existence -- the power of taking hold of experience, of turning it round, slowly, in the light.
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Wat a vast fertility of pleasure books hold for me! I went in and found the table laden with books. I looked in and sniffed them all. I could not resist carrying this one off and broaching it. I think I could happily live here and read forever.
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Sleep, that deplorable curtailment of the joy of life.
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For books continue each other, in spite of our habit of judging them separately.
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I see nothing. We may sink and settle on the waves. The sea will drum in my ears. The white petals will be darkened with sea water. They will float for a moment and then sink. Rolling over the waves will shoulder me under. Everything falls in a tremendous shower, dissolving me.
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So fine was the morning except for a streak of wind here and there that the sea and sky looked all one fabric, as if sails were stuck high up in the sky, or the clouds had dropped down into the sea.
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It is no use trying to sum people up.
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I’m not clear enough in the head to feel anything but varieties of dull anger and arrows of sadness.
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First a warning, musical then the hour, irrevocable. The leaden circles dissolved in the air.
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I ransack public libraries & find them full of sunk treasure.
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Nothing is stronger than the position of the dead among the living.
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