Death is woven in with the violets,” said Louis. “Death and again death.”) Virginia Woolf More Quotes by Virginia Woolf More Quotes From Virginia Woolf So he was deserted. The whole world was clamouring: Kill yourself, kill yourself, for our sakes. But why should he kill himself for their sakes? Food was pleasant; the sun hot; and this killing oneself, how does one set about it, with a table knife, uglily, with floods of blood, - by sucking a gaspipe? He was too weak; he could scarcely raise his hand. Besides, now that he was quite alone, condemned, deserted, as those who are about to die are alone, there was a luxury in it, an isolation full of sublimity; a freedom which the attached can never know. Virginia Woolf knives hands blood Different though the sexes are, they inter-mix. In every human being a vacillation from one sex to the other takes place, and often it is only the clothes that keep the male or female likeness, while underneath the sex is very opposite of what it is above. Virginia Woolf clothes opposites sex I got out this diary, & read as one always does read one's own writing, with a kind of guilty intensity. Virginia Woolf kind diaries writing I want to think quietly, calmly, spaciously, never to be interrupted, never to have to rise from my chair, to slip easily from one thing to another, without any sense of hostility, or obstacle. I want to sink deeper and deeper, away from the surface, with its hard separate facts. Virginia Woolf want facts thinking Human beings have neither kindness, nor faith, nor charity beyond what serves to increase the pleasure of the moment. Virginia Woolf charity kindness character War is not women's history. Virginia Woolf empowering inspiring war It is only by putting it into words that I make it whole. This wholeness means that it has lost its power to hurt me; it gives me, perhaps because by doing so I take away the pain, a great delight to put the severed parts together Virginia Woolf pain hurt mean I prefer men to cauliflowers Virginia Woolf cauliflower men If Shakespeare had never existed, he asked, would the world have differed much from what it is today? Does the progress of civilization depend upon great men? Is the lot of the average human being better now that in the time of the Pharaohs? Virginia Woolf average men civilization We agreed that people are now afraid of the English language. He [T.S. Eliot] said it came of being bookish, but not reading books enough. One should read all styles thoroughly. Virginia Woolf reading book people We are cut, we are fallen. We are become part of that unfeeling universe that sleeps when we are at our quickest and burns red when we lie asleep. Virginia Woolf cutting sleep lying Life stand still here. Virginia Woolf crafts stills If behind the erratic gunfire of the press the author felt that there was another kind of criticism, the opinion of people readingfor the love of reading, slowly and unprofessionally, and judging with great sympathy and yet with great severity, might this not improve the quality of his work? And if by our means books were to become stronger, richer, and more varied, that would be an end worth reaching. Virginia Woolf reading mean book But our hatred is almost indistinguishable from our love. Virginia Woolf our-love hatred There'll be oceans of talk and emotions without end. Virginia Woolf emotion ocean ends When the shriveled skin of the ordinary is stuffed out with meaning, it satisfies the senses amazingly. Virginia Woolf medicine skins philosophy For such will be our ruin if you, in the immensity of your public abstractions, forget the private figure, or if we in the intensity of our private emotions forget the public world. Both houses will be ruined, the public and the private, the material and the spiritual, for they are inseparably connected. Virginia Woolf spiritual house world Peace was the third emotion. Love. Hate. Peace. Three emotions made the ply of human life. Virginia Woolf plies three hate I feel that by writing I am doing what is far more necessary than anything else. Virginia Woolf writing feels Let it be fact, one feels, or let it be fiction; the imagination will not serve under two masters simultaneously. Virginia Woolf imagination two fiction