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for it was not knowledge but unity that she desired, not inscriptions on tablets, nothing that could be written in any language known to men, but intimacy itself, which is knowledge

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
Intimacy
Unity
Written
Known
Knowledge
Inscriptions
Language
Lighthouse
Nothing
Tablets
Men
Desired

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Theories then are dangerous things.
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Conversation, fastidious goddess, loves blood better than brick, and feasts most subtly on the human will.
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Somewhere, everywhere, now hidden, now apparent in what ever is written down, is the form of a human being. If we seek to know him, are we idly occupied?
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You cannot cross the narrow bridge of art carrying all its tools in your hands. Some you must leave behind.
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We [women] have borne and bred and washed and taught, perhaps to the age of six or seven years, the one thousand six hundred and twenty-three million human beings who are, according to statistics, at present in existence, and that ... takes time.
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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.
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There are no teachers, saints, prophets, good people, but the artists.
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Her life-that was the only chance she had-the short season between two silences.
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Every face, every shop, bedroom window, public-house, and dark square is a picture feverishly turned--in search of what? It is the same with books. What do we seek through millions of pages?
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There is something I want-something I have come to get, and she fell deeper and deeper without knowing quite what it was, with her eyes closed.
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It was the intimacy, a sort of spiritual suppleness, when mind prints upon mind indelibly.
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Boredom is the legitimate kingdom of the philanthropic.
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What is the meaning of life? That was all- a simple question one that tended to close in on one with years, the great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark here was one.
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There is something about the present which we would not exchange, though we were offered a choice of all past ages to live in.
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When you consider things like the stars, our affairs don't seem to matter very much, do they?
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Like and like and like--but what is the thing that lies beneath the semblance of the thing?
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We all indulge in the strange, pleasant process called thinking, but when it comes to saying, even to someone opposite, what we think, then how little we are able to convey! The phantom is through the mind and out of the window before we can lay salt on
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I enjoy the spring more than the autumn now. One does, I think, as one gets older.
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How much better is silence the coffee cup, the table. How much better to sit by myself like the solitary sea-bird that opens its wings on the stake. Let me sit here for ever with bare things, this coffee cup, this knife, this fork, things in themselves, myself being myself.
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I need not hate any man he cannot hurt me. I need not flatter any man he has nothing to give me.
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