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And again she felt alone in the presence of her old antagonist, life.
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
Antagonist
Presence
Alone
Literature
Felt
Life
More quotes by Virginia Woolf
The mind is the most capricious of insects — flitting, fluttering.
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Anything may happen when womanhood has ceased to be a protected occupation.
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Consolation for those moments when you can't tell whether you're the divinest genius or the greatest fool in the world.
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The hatchet must fall on the block the oak must be cleft to the centre. The weight of the world is on my shoulders. Here is the pen and the paper on the letters in the wire basket I sign my name, I, I, and again I.
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Indeed there has never been any explanation of the ebb and flow in our veins--of happiness and unhappiness.
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A self that goes on changing is a self that goes on living.
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Clothes are but a symbol of something hid deep beneath.
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Intellectual freedom depends upon material things.
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The only advice ... that one person can give another about reading is to take no advice, to follow your own instincts, to use your own reason, to come to your own conclusions.
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And all the lives we ever lived and all the lives to be are full of trees and changing leaves.
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I am to be broken. I am to be derided all my life. I am to be cast up and down among these men and women, with their twitching faces, with their lying tongues, like a cork on a rough sea. Like a ribbon of weed I am flung far every time the door opens.
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Of the rest some we know to be dead though they walk among us some are not yet born though they go through the forms of life others are hundreds of years old though they call themselves thirty-six.
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All artists need a room of their own
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Death is woven in with the violets,” said Louis. “Death and again death.”)
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How lovely goodness is in those who, stepping lightly, go smiling through the world.
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What a comfort is friendship in this world.
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Those comfortably padded lunatic asylums which are known, euphemistically, as the stately homes of England.
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But I pine in Solitude. Solitude is my undoing.
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It is probable that both in life and in art the values of a woman are not the values of a man.
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No passion is stronger in the breast of man than the desire to make others believe as he believes
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