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There is a sadness at the back of life which some people do not attempt to mitigate. Entirely aware of their own standing in the shadow, and yet alive to every tremor and gleam of existence, there they endure.

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
Shadow
Tremor
Standing
Mitigate
Alive
Gleam
Existence
Attempt
Back
Entirely
Every
Sadness
Life
Endure
People
Aware

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I will achieve in my life - Heaven grant that it be not long - some gigantic amalgamation between the two discrepancies so hideously apparent to me. Out of my suffering I will do it. I will knock. I will enter.
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Often on a wet day I begin counting up what I've read what I haven't read.
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The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark.
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When, however, one reads of a witch being ducked, of a woman possessed by devils, of a wise woman selling herbs, or even a very remarkable man who had a mother, then I think we are on the track of a lost novelist, a suppressed poet. . . indeed, I would venture to guess that Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.
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That would be a glorious life, to addict oneself to perfection to follow the curve of the sentence wherever it might lead, into deserts, under drifts of sand, regardless of lures, of seductions to be poor always and unkempt to be ridiculous in Piccadilly.
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The world is crammed with delightful things
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Money dignifies what is frivolous if unpaid for.
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I have made up thousands of stories I have filled innumerable notebooks with phrases to be used when I have found the true story, the one story to which all these phrases refer. But I have never yet found the story. And I begin to ask, Are there stories?
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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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Was not writing poetry a secret transaction, a voice answering a voice?
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Literature is strewn with the wreckage of men who have minded beyond reason the opinions of others.
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Blame it or praise it, there is no denying the wild horse in us.
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It doesn't have to be the truth, just your vision of it, written down.
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In the 18th century we knew how everything was done, but here I rise through the air, I listen to voices in America, I see men flying- but how is it done? I can't even begin to wonder. So my belief in magic returns.
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It might be possible that the world itself is without meaning.
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The immense success of our life is, I think, that our treasure is hid away or rather in such common things that nothing can touch it.
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She felt... how life, from being made up of little separate incidents which one lived one by one, became curled and whole like a wave which bore one up with it and threw one down with it, there, with a dash on the beach.
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A masterpiece is something said once and for all, stated, finished, so that it's there complete in the mind, if only at the back.
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Middlemarch, the magnificent book which with all its imperfections is one of the few English novels for grown-up people.
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To enjoy freedom ... we have of course to control ourselves. We must not squander our powers, helplessly and ignorantly, squirting half the house in order to water a single rose.
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