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Why, he wondered, did people who had been asleep always want to make out that they were extremely wide-awake?
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
Always
People
Wondered
Asleep
Extremely
Awake
Wide
Sleep
Make
More quotes by Virginia Woolf
I grow numb I grow stiff. How shall I break up this numbness which discredits my sympathetic heart?
Virginia Woolf
Melancholy were the sounds on a winter's night.
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I enjoy almost everything. Yet I have some restless searcher in me. Why is there not a discovery in life? Something one can lay hands on and say “This is it”? My depression is a harassed feeling. I’m looking: but that’s not it — that’s not it. What is it? And shall I die before I find it?
Virginia Woolf
One wanted, she thought, dipping her brush deliberately, to be on a level with ordinary experience, to feel simply that's a chair, that's a table, and yet at the same time, It's a miracle, it's an ecstasy.
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I like books whose virtue is all drawn together in a page or two. I like sentences that don't budge though armies cross them.
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I have had my vision.
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Books are the mirrors of the soul.
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How far do our feelings take their colour from the dive underground? I mean, what is the reality of any feeling?
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London perpetually attracts, stimulates, gives me a play and a story and a poem, without any trouble, save that of moving my legs through the streets... To walk alone through London is the greatest rest.
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Only longing can fill with more of itself.
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... it's been a perpetual discovery, my life. A miracle.
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Her life-that was the only chance she had-the short season between two silences.
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Love and religion! thought Clarissa, going back into the drawing room, tingling all over. How detestable, how detestable they are!
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But I pine in Solitude. Solitude is my undoing.
Virginia Woolf
Her life was a tissue of vanity and deceit.
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scarcely a human being in the course of history has fallen to a woman's rifle the vast majority of birds and beasts have been killed by you, not by us. Obviously there is for you some glory, some necessity, some satisfaction in fighting which we have never felt or enjoyed.
Virginia Woolf
Great bodies of people are never responsible for what they do.
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Ransack the language as he might, words failed him. He wanted another landscape, and another tongue.
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A writer should give direct certainty explanations are so much water poured into the wine.
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For women live much more in the past...they attach themselves to places.
Virginia Woolf
