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Love and religion! thought Clarissa, going back into the drawing room, tingling all over. How detestable, how detestable they are!
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
Drawing
Room
Rooms
Religion
Thought
Back
Clarissa
Going
Tingling
Love
Detestable
More quotes by Virginia Woolf
There was a day when I liked writing letters -- it has gone. Unfortunately the passion for getting them remains.
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All artists need a room of their own
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When she read just now to James, 'and there were numbers of soldiers with kettledrums and trumpets,' and his eyes darkened, she thought, why should they grow up, and lose all that?
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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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It is worth mentioning, for future reference, that the creative power which bubbles so pleasantly in beginning a new book quiets down after a time, and one goes on more steadily. Doubts creep in. Then one becomes resigned. Determination not to give in, and the sense of an impending shape keep one at it more than anything.
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When I cannot see words curling like rings of smoke round me I am in darkness—I am nothing.
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Money dignifies what is frivolous if unpaid for.
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He looked very old. He looked, James thought, getting his head now against the Lighthouse, now against the waste of waters running away into the open, like some old stone lying on the sand he looked as if he had become physically what was always at the back of both of their minds-that loneliness which was for both of them the truth about things.
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They came to her, naturally, since she was a woman, all day long with this and that one wanting this, another that the children were growing up she often felt she was nothing but a sponge sopped full of human emotions.
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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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literature is the record of our discontent.
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I am tied down with single words. But you wander off you slip away you rise up higher, with words and words in phrases.
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I meant to write about death, only life came breaking in as usual
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The poet gives us his essence, but prose takes the mould of the body and mind entire.
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I do not want to be admired. I want to give, to be given, and solitude in which to unfold my possessions.
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One has to secrete a jelly in which to slip quotations down people's throats - and one always secretes too much jelly.
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it is strange how the dead leap out on us at street corners, or in dreams
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I'm terrified of passive acquiescence. I live in intensity.
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But the close withdrew: the hand softened. It was over-- the moment.
Virginia Woolf
The connection between dress and war is not far to seek your finest clothes are those you wear as soldiers.
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