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A biography is considered complete if it merely accounts for six or seven selves, whereas a person may well have as many as a thousand.

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
Person
Six
Wells
Complete
Well
Merely
Biography
Self
Seven
Selves
Many
Thousand
Biographies
Literature
Whereas
May
Considered
Persons
Accounts

More quotes by Virginia Woolf

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At last she shut the book sharply, lay back, and drew a deep breath, expressive of the wonder which always marks the transition from the imaginary world to the real world.
Virginia Woolf
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When you consider things like the stars, our affairs don't seem to matter very much, do they?
Virginia Woolf
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Young women... you are, in my opinion, disgracefully ignorant. You have never made a discovery of any sort of importance. You have never shaken an empire or led an army into battle. The plays by Shakespeare are not by you, and you have never introduced a barbarous race to the blessings of civilization. What is your excuse?
Virginia Woolf
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Moreover, a book is not made of sentences laid end to end, but of sentences built, if an image helps, into arcades or domes.
Virginia Woolf
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For beyond the difficulty of communicating oneself, there is the supreme difficulty of being oneself.
Virginia Woolf
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When the shriveled skin of the ordinary is stuffed out with meaning, it satisfies the senses amazingly.
Virginia Woolf
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The melancholy river bears us on. When the moon comes through the trailing willow boughs, I see your face, I hear your voice and the bird singing as we pass the osier bed. What are you whispering? Sorrow, sorrow. Joy, joy. Woven together, like reeds in moonlight.
Virginia Woolf
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I am obsessed at nights with the idea of my own worthlessness, and if it were only to turn a light on to save my life I think I would not do it. These are the last footprints of a headache I suppose. Do you ever feel that? - like an old weed in a stream. What do you feel, lying in bed?
Virginia Woolf
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I want some one to sit beside after the day's pursuit and all its anguish, after its listening, its waitings, and its suspicions. After quarreling and reconciliation I need privacy--to be alone with you, to set this hubbub in order. For I am as neat as a cat in my habits.
Virginia Woolf
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Ruin, weariness, death, perpetually death, stand grimly to confront the other presence of Elizabethan drama which is life: life compact of frigates, fir trees and ivory, of dolphins and the juice of July flowers, of the milk of unicorns and panthers’ breath, of ropes of pearl, brains of peacocks and Cretan wine.
Virginia Woolf
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I mean it's the writing, not the being read, that excites me.
Virginia Woolf
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I feel certain that I'm going mad again, I feel we can't go thru another of those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voices
Virginia Woolf
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... 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
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It is far harder to kill a phantom than a reality.
Virginia Woolf
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We are the words we are the music we are the thing itself.
Virginia Woolf
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I need not hate any man he cannot hurt me. I need not flatter any man he has nothing to give me.
Virginia Woolf
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It is useless to read Greek in translation translators can but offer us a vague equivalent.
Virginia Woolf
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We shall be the mouthpieces of the divine spirit—
Virginia Woolf
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There was a day when I liked writing letters -- it has gone. Unfortunately the passion for getting them remains.
Virginia Woolf
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Am I alone in my egotism when I say that never does the pale light of dawn filter through the blinds of 52 Tavistock Square but I open my eyes and exclaim, Good God! Here I am again! not always with pleasure, often with pain sometimes in a spasm.
Virginia Woolf