Quote

To stand in a great bookshop crammed with books so new that their pages almost stick together, and the gilt on their backs is still fresh, has an excitement no less delightful than the old excitement of the second-hand bookstall.

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
Still
Stand
Backs
Book
Hand
Delightful
Great
Books
Excitement
Almost
Stick
Less
Fresh
Gilt
Hands
Sticks
Bookshop
Stills
Pages
Crammed
Together
Second
Bookshops

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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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As for my next book, I won't write it till it has grown heavy in my mind like a ripe pear pendant, gravid, asking to be cut or it will fall.
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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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Among the tortures and devestations of life is this then - our friends are not able to finish their stories.
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Have you any notion how many books are written about women in the course of one year? Have you any notion how many are written by men? Are you aware that you are, perhaps, the most discussed animal in the universe?
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When an arguer argues dispassionately he thinks only of the argument.
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One of the signs of passing youth is the birth of a sense of fellowship with other human beings as we take our place among them.
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Why is life so tragic so like a little strip of pavement over an abyss. I look down I feel giddy I wonder how I am ever to walk to the end.
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Most of a modest woman's life was spent, after all, in denying what, in one day at least of every year, was made obvious.
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In people's eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge in the bellow and uproar the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging brass bands barrel organs in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved life London this moment in June.
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All this pitting of sex against sex, of quality against quality all this claiming of superiority and imputing of inferiority belong to the private-school stage of human existence where there are sides, and it is necessary for one side to beat another side.
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Growing up is losing some illusions, in order to acquire others.
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A self that goes on changing is a self that goes on living.
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Romantic Love is only an Illusion. A story one makes up in One's Mind about Another Person.
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I have a deeply hidden and inarticulate desire for something beyond the daily life.
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Literature is no one’s private ground, literature is common ground let us trespass freely and fearlessly and find our own way for ourselves.
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If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people.
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As a woman, I have no country
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I will achieve in my life - Heaven grant that it be not long - some gigantic amalgamation between the two discrepancies so hideously apparent to me. Out of my suffering I will do it. I will knock. I will enter.
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Dance music ... stirs some barbaric instinct - lulled asleep in our sober lives - you forget centuries of civilization in a second, & yield to that strange passion which sends you madly whirling round the room.
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