Share
×
Inspirational Quotes
Authors
Professions
Topics
Tags
Quote
Thoughts without words… Can that be?
Virginia Woolf
Share
Change background
T
T
T
Change font
Original
TAGS & TOPICS
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
Thoughts
Words
Without
More quotes by Virginia Woolf
For once the disease of reading has laid upon the system it weakens so that it falls an easy prey to that other scourge which dwells in the ink pot and festers in the quill. The wretch takes to writing.
Virginia Woolf
... the random talk of people who have no chance of immortality and thus can speak their minds out has a setting, often, of lights, streets, houses, human beings, beautiful or grotesque, which will weave itself into the moment for ever.
Virginia Woolf
I prefer men to cauliflowers
Virginia Woolf
every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works, yet we require critics to explain the one and biographers to expound the other. That time hangs heavy on people's hands is the only explanation of the monstrous growth.
Virginia Woolf
Why does one write these books after all? The drudgery, the misery, the grind, are forgotten everytime and one launches another, and it seems sheer joy and buoyancy.
Virginia Woolf
I'm sick to death of this particular self. I want another.
Virginia Woolf
It was strange to think that all the great women of fiction were, until Jane Austen's day, not only seen by the other sex, but seen only in relation to the other sex. And how small a part of woman's life is that.
Virginia Woolf
I meant to write about death, only life came breaking in as usual
Virginia Woolf
I am rooted, but I flow.
Virginia Woolf
For it would seem - her case proved it - that we write, not with the fingers, but with the whole person. The nerve which controls the pen winds itself about every fibre of our being, threads the heart, pierces the liver.
Virginia Woolf
Middlemarch, the magnificent book which with all its imperfections is one of the few English novels for grown-up people.
Virginia Woolf
You can't think how I depend on you, and when you're not there the colour goes out of my life.
Virginia Woolf
Who shall measure the hat and violence of the poet's heart when caught and tangled in a woman's body?
Virginia Woolf
Besides, in this random miscellaneous company we may rub against some complete stranger who will, with luck, turn into the best friend we have in the world.
Virginia Woolf
For love... has two faces one white, the other black two bodies one smooth, the other hairy. It has two hands, two feet, two tails, two, indeed, of every member and each one is the exact opposite of the other. Yet, so strictly are they joined together
Virginia Woolf
Beauty was not everything. Beauty had this penalty — it came too readily, came too completely. It stilled life — froze it.
Virginia Woolf
I want to think quietly, calmly, spaciously, never to be interrupted, never to have to rise from my chair, to slip easily from one thing to another, without any sense of hostility, or obstacle. I want to sink deeper and deeper, away from the surface, with its hard separate facts.
Virginia Woolf
It was a miserable machine, an inefficient machine, she thought, the human apparatus for painting or for feeling it always broke down at the critical moment heroically, one must force it on.
Virginia Woolf
and then he could not see her come into a room without a sense of the flowing of robes, of the flowering of blossoms, of the purple waves of the sea, of all things that are lovely and mutable on the surface but still and passionate in their heart.
Virginia Woolf
Literature is no one’s private ground, literature is common ground let us trespass freely and fearlessly and find our own way for ourselves.
Virginia Woolf