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I feel certain that I'm going mad again, I feel we can't go thru another of those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voices

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
Time
Hear
Shan
Times
Thru
Voice
Recover
Another
Voices
Certain
Mad
Feel
Suicide
Feels
Begin
Going
Terrible

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I begin to long for some little language such as lovers use, broken words, inarticulate words, like the shuffling of feet on pavement.
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There is the strange power we have of changing facts by the force of the imagination.
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It is equally vain,” she thought, “for you to think you can protect me, or for me to think I can worship you. The light of truth beats upon us without shadow, and the light of truth is damnably unbecoming to us both.
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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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What is a woman? I assure you, I do not know ... I do not believe that anybody can know until she has expressed herself in all the arts and professions open to human skill.
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Half the time she did things not simply, not for themselves but to make people think this or that perfect idiocy she knew for no one was ever for a second taken in.
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The weather varies between heavy fog and pale sunshine My thoughts follow the exact same process.
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Men felt a chill in their hearts a damp in their minds. In a desperate effort to snuggle their feelings into some sort of warmth,one subterfuge was tried after anothersentences swelled, adjectives multiplied, lyrics became epics.
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and even a tea party means apprehension, breakage
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At last she shut the book sharply, lay back, and drew a deep breath, expressive of the wonder which always marks the transition from the imaginary world to the real world.
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Style is a very simple matter it is all rhythm. Once you get that, you can't use the wrong words.
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Odd how the creative power at once brings the whole universe to order.
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It would have been impossible, completely and entirely, for any woman to have written the plays of Shakespeare in the age of Shakespeare.
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Sometimes I think heaven must be one continuous unexhausted reading.
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