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For if Chloe likes Olivia and Mary Carmichael knows how to express it she will light a torch in that vast chamber where nobody has yet been.
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
Mary
Vast
Express
Olivia
Likes
Chloe
Nobody
Torch
Light
Torches
Intriguing
Chamber
More quotes by Virginia Woolf
Soup is cuisines kindest course
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I am all the time thinking about poetry and fiction and you.
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The art of writing has for backbone some fierce attachment to an idea.
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O friendship, I too will press flowers between the pages of Shakespeare's sonnets!
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Doesn't one always think of the past, in a garden with men and women lying under the trees? Aren't they one's past, all that remains of it, those men and women, those ghosts lying under the trees ... one's happiness, one's reality?
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O how blessed it would be never to marry, or grow old but to spend one's life innocently and indifferently among the trees and rivers which alone can keep one cool and childlike in the midst of the troubles of the world!
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There was no treachery too base for the world to commit.
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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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Fatigue is the safest sleeping draught.
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The world has raised its whip where will it descend?
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[Ulysses is] the work of a queasy undergraduate scratching his pimples.
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Men felt a chill in their hearts a damp in their minds. In a desperate effort to snuggle their feelings into some sort of warmth,one subterfuge was tried after anothersentences swelled, adjectives multiplied, lyrics became epics.
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One should aim, seriously, at disregarding ups and downs a compliment here, silence there ... the central fact remains stable, which is the fact of my own pleasure in the art.
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The connection between dress and war is not far to seek your finest clothes are those you wear as soldiers.
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[Final diary entry:] Occupation is essential. And now with some pleasure I find that it's seven and must cook dinner. Haddock and sausage meat. I think it is true that one gains a certain hold on sausage and haddock by writing them down.
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Never pretend that the things you haven't got are not worth having.
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I find that when I've seen a certain number of people my mind becomes like an old match box -- the part one strikes on, I mean.
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Oh, but she never wanted James to grow a day older or Cam either. These two she would have liked to keep for ever just as the way they were, demons of wickedness, angels of delight, never to see them grow up into long-legged monsters.
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There was a day when I liked writing letters -- it has gone. Unfortunately the passion for getting them remains.
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My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery - always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then buried in mud. And why? What's this passion for?
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