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The sigh of all the seas breaking in measure round the isles soothed them the night wrapped them nothing broke their sleep, until, the birds beginning and the dawn weaving their thin voices in to its whiteness

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
Bird
Breaking
Soothed
Sea
Voices
Isle
Beginning
Birds
Whiteness
Sleep
Dawn
Weaving
Voice
Round
Seas
Night
Rounds
Wrapped
Nothing
Broke
Sigh
Measure
Thin
Isles

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Now the writer, I think, has the chance to live more than other people in the presence of ... reality. It is his business to find it and collect it and communicate it to the rest of us.
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Nothing thicker than a knife's blade separates happiness from melancholy.
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She felt, with her hand on the nursery door, that community of feeling with other people which emotion gives as if the walls of partition had become so thin that practically (the feeling was one of relief and happiness) it was all one stream.
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The chief glory of a woman is not to be talked of, said Pericles, himself a much-talked-of-man.
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I want some one to sit beside after the day's pursuit and all its anguish, after its listening, its waitings, and its suspicions. After quarreling and reconciliation I need privacy--to be alone with you, to set this hubbub in order. For I am as neat as a cat in my habits.
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To survive, each sentence must have, at its heart, a little spark of fire, and this, whatever the risk, the novelist must pluck with his own hands from the blaze.
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As a creator of character his peculiarity is that he creates wherever his eyes rest ... With such a power at his command Dickens made his books blaze up, not by tightening the plot or sharpening the wit, but by throwing another handful of people upon the fire.
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Never pretend that the things you haven't got are not worth having.
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... if we can imagine the art of fiction come alive and standing in our midst, she would undoubtedly bid us to break her and bullyher, as well as honour and love her, for so her youth is renewed and her sovereignty assured.
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I ride rough waters, and shall sink with no one to save me.
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If one could be friendly with women, what a pleasure - the relationship so secret and private compared with relations with men. Why not write about it truthfully?
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Young women... you are, in my opinion, disgracefully ignorant. You have never made a discovery of any sort of importance. You have never shaken an empire or led an army into battle. The plays by Shakespeare are not by you, and you have never introduced a barbarous race to the blessings of civilization. What is your excuse?
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writing is the profound pleasure and being read the superficial.
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I see you everywhere, in the stars, in the river, to me you're everything that exists the reality of everything.
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I got out this diary, & read as one always does read one's own writing, with a kind of guilty intensity.
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First a warning, musical then the hour, irrevocable. The leaden circles dissolved in the air.
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You have a touch in letter writing that is beyond me. Something unexpected, like coming round a corner in a rose garden and finding it still daylight.
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At any rate, when a subject is highly controversial-and any question about sex is that-one cannot hope to tell the truth. One can only show how one came to hold whatever opinion one does hold.
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A good essay must have this permanent quality about it it must draw its curtain round us, but it must be a curtain that shuts us in not out.
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My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.
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