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Yield to that strange passion which sends you madly whirling round the room.
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
Rounds
Room
Rooms
Strange
Whirling
Passion
Madly
Sends
Yield
Round
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I will dream today for I must unscrew my head somehow.
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The habit of writing for my eye is good practice. It loosens the ligaments.
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For the eye has this strange property: it rests only on beauty.
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Life would split apart without letters.
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I am reading Henry James...and feel myself as one entombed in a block of smooth amber.
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Illness is a part of every human being's experience. It enhances our perceptions and reduces self-consciousness. It is the great confessional things are said, truths are blurted out which health conceals.
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war is a man's game ... the killing machine has a gender and it is male.
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Without self awareness we are as babies in the cradles.
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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 beauty of the world, which is so soon to perish, has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder.
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Sleep, that deplorable curtailment of the joy of life.
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I feel so intensely the delights of shutting oneself up in a little world of one’s own, with pictures and music and everything beautiful.
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Romantic Love is only an Illusion. A story one makes up in One's Mind about Another Person.
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I ransack public libraries & find them full of sunk treasure.
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Fatigue is the safest sleeping draught.
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Clothes are but a symbol of something hid deep beneath.
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I was in a queer mood, thinking myself very old: but now I am a woman again - as I always am when I write.
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