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My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.

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
Hums
Scraps
Scrap
Madness
Poetry
Brain

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I thought how unpleasant it is to be locked out and I thought how it is worse, perhaps, to be locked in.
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Why is life so tragic so like a little strip of pavement over an abyss. I look down I feel giddy I wonder how I am ever to walk to the end.
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But Sasha who after all had no English blood in her but was from Russia where the sunsets are longer, the dawns less sudden, and sentences often left unfinished from doubt as to how best to end them.
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The real novelist, the perfectly simple human being, could go on, indefinitely imaging.
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The proper stuff of fiction' does not exist everything is the proper stuff of fiction, every feeling, every thought every quality of brain and spirit is drawn upon no perception comes amiss.
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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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And now more than anything I want beautiful prose. I relish it more and more exquisitely.
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I want to write a novel about Silence, he said “the things people don’t say.
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Most of a modest woman's life was spent, after all, in denying what, in one day at least of every year, was made obvious.
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There is no room for the impurities of literature in an essay.
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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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There is no room for the impurities of literature in an essay.... the essay must be pure--pure like water or pure like wine, but pure from dullness, deadness, and deposits of extraneous matter.
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Altogether, the task of estimating the length of human life is beyond our capacity, for directly we say that it is ages long, we are reminded that it is briefer than the fall of a rose leaf to the ground.
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Lies will flow from my lips, but there may perhaps be some truth mixed up with them.
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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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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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To stand in a great bookshop crammed with books so new that their pages almost stick together, and the gilt on their backs is still fresh, has an excitement no less delightful than the old excitement of the second-hand bookstall.
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She began framing the words of her telegram into a senseless singsong so that several park keepers looked at her with suspicion and were only brought to a favourable opinion of her sanity by noticing the pearl necklace which she wore.
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