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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.

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
Tears
Unrecognizable
Reality
Gust
Human
Emily
Humans
Transcend
Life
Transparency
Tear
Fill
Beings
Transparencies

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They lack suggestive power. And when a book lacks suggestive power, however hard it hits the surface of the mind it cannot penetrate within.
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The history of most women is hidden either by silence, or by flourishes and ornaments that amount to silence.
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Middlemarch, the magnificent book which with all its imperfections is one of the few English novels for grown-up people.
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The hatchet must fall on the block the oak must be cleft to the centre. The weight of the world is on my shoulders. Here is the pen and the paper on the letters in the wire basket I sign my name, I, I, and again I.
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Love had a thousand shapes.
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At 46 one must be a miser only have time for essentials.
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One must learn to be silent just as one must learn to talk.
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A million candles burnt in him without his being at the trouble of lighting a single one
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A biography is considered complete if it merely accounts for six or seven selves, whereas a person may well have as many as a thousand.
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If only she could put them together, she felt, write them out in some sentence, then she would have got at the truth of things.
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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.
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Books should stand on their own feet ... If they need shoring up by a preface here, an introduction there, they have no more right to exist than a table that needs a wad of paper under one leg in order to stand steady.
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writing is the profound pleasure and being read the superficial.
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But beauty must be broken daily to remain beautiful.
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My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.
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The root of things, what they were all afraid of saying, was that happiness is dirt cheap. You can have it for nothing. Beauty.
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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.
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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.
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Just in case you ever foolishly forget I'm never not thinking of you
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I was always going to the bookcase for another sip of the divine specific.
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