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Still, the sun was hot. Still, one got over things. Still, life had a way of adding day to day
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
Still
Way
Things
Life
Adding
Hot
Sun
Stills
More quotes by Virginia Woolf
The art of writing has for backbone some fierce attachment to an idea.
Virginia Woolf
The profound difference that divides the human race is a question of bait - whether to fish with worms or not.
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Different though the sexes are, they inter-mix. In every human being a vacillation from one sex to the other takes place, and often it is only the clothes that keep the male or female likeness, while underneath the sex is very opposite of what it is above.
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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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Never are voices so beautiful as on a winter's evening, when dusk almost hides the body, and they seem to issue from nothingness with a note of intimacy seldom heard by day.
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Illusions are to the soul what atmosphere is to the earth.
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And all the lives we ever lived and all the lives to be are full of trees and changing leaves.
Virginia Woolf
I would venture to guess that Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.
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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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Why are women... so much more interesting to men than men are to women?
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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.
Virginia Woolf
But then anyone who's worth anything reads just what he likes, as the mood takes him, and with extravagant enthusiasm.
Virginia Woolf
As nobody can possibly tell me whether one's writing is bad or good, the only certain value is one's own pleasure. I am sure of that.
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Why, if it was an illusion, not praise the catastrophe, whatever it was, that destroyed illusion and put truth in it's place?
Virginia Woolf
Thoughts without words… Can that be?
Virginia Woolf
Fatigue is the safest sleeping draught.
Virginia Woolf
One wanted, she thought, dipping her brush deliberately, to be on a level with ordinary experience, to feel simply that's a chair, that's a table, and yet at the same time, It's a miracle, it's an ecstasy.
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We seem to be riding on the top of the highest mast of the tallest ship and yet at the same time we know that nothing of this sort matters love is not proved thus, nor great achievements completed thus so that we sport with the moment and preen our feathers in it lightly.
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A thousand things to be written had I time: had I power. A very little writing uses up my capacity for writing.
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In illness words seem to possess a mystic quality.
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