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You cannot cross the narrow bridge of art carrying all its tools in your hands. Some you must leave behind.
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
Hands
Bridges
Cannot
Cross
Must
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Tools
Behinds
Behind
Carrying
Leave
Bridge
Art
Narrow
More quotes by Virginia Woolf
Mental fight means thinking against the current, not with it. It is our business to puncture gas bags and discover seeds of truth.
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Art is not a copy of the real world one of the damn things is enough.
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Jealousy ... survives every other passion of mankind.
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It seems as if an age of genius must be succeeded by an age of endeavour riot and extravagance by cleanliness and hard work.
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On the outskirts of every agony sits some observant fellow who points.
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Nothing, however, can be more arrogant, though nothing is commoner than to assume that of Gods there is only one, and of religions none but the speaker’s.
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We live in constant danger of coming apart. The mystery of why we do not always come apart is the animating tension of all art.
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As a creator of character his peculiarity is that he creates wherever his eyes rest ... With such a power at his command Dickens made his books blaze up, not by tightening the plot or sharpening the wit, but by throwing another handful of people upon the fire.
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Henry James seems most entirely in his element, doing that is to say what everything favors his doing, when it is a question of recollection. The mellow light which swims over the past, the beauty which suffuses even the commonest little figures of that
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Let us again pretend that life is a solid substance, shaped like a globe, which we turn about in our fingers. Let us pretend that we can make out a plain and logical story, so that when one matter is despatched—love for instance—we go on, in an orderly manner, to the next.
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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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He smiled the most exquisite smile, veiled by memory, tinged by dreams.
Virginia Woolf
To know whom to write for is to know how to write.
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The profound difference that divides the human race is a question of bait - whether to fish with worms or not.
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Just in case you ever foolishly forget I'm never not thinking of you
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One must love everything.
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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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I press to my centre, and find there is something there.
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Tragedies come in the hungry hours.
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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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