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Lies will flow from my lips, but there may perhaps be some truth mixed up with them.
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
Perhaps
Lying
Truth
May
Mixed
Lips
Flow
Lies
More quotes by Virginia Woolf
It was the intimacy, a sort of spiritual suppleness, when mind prints upon mind indelibly.
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Death is woven in with the violets,” said Louis. “Death and again death.”)
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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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I like going from one lighted room to another, such is my brain to me lighted rooms.
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To sit and contemplate - to remember the faces of women without desire, to be pleased by the great deeds of men without envy, to be everything and everywhere in sympathy and yet content to remain where and what you are.
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To depend upon a profession is a less odious form of slavery than to depend upon a father.
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He called her a melon, a pineapple, an olive tree, an emerald, and a fox in the snow all in the space of three seconds he did not know whether he had heard her, tasted her, seen her, or all three together.
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Now begins to rise in me the familiar rhythm words that have lain dormant now lift, now toss their crests, and fall and rise, and falls again. I am a poet, yes. Surely I am a great poet.
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I have a deeply hidden and inarticulate desire for something beyond the daily life.
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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
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It is a thousand pities never to say what one feels.
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Sir, I would trust you with my heart. Moreover, we have left our bodies in the banqueting hall. Those on the turf are the shadows of our souls.
Virginia Woolf
Life stand still here.
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war is a man's game ... the killing machine has a gender and it is male.
Virginia Woolf
To enjoy freedom we have to control ourselves.
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I am in the mood to dissolve in the sky.
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and even a tea party means apprehension, breakage
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No, she thought, one could say nothing to nobody. The urgency of the moment always missed its mark. Words fluttered sideways and struck the object inches too low.
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Beauty was not everything. Beauty had this penalty — it came too readily, came too completely. It stilled life — froze it.
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But I pine in Solitude. Solitude is my undoing.
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