I would venture to guess that Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman. Virginia Woolf More Quotes by Virginia Woolf More Quotes From Virginia Woolf Better was it to go unknown and leave behind you an arch, then to burn like a meteor and leave no dust. Virginia Woolf meteorsarchesdust For now she need not think of anybody. She coud be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of - to think; well not even to think. To be silent; to be alone. All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others... and this self having shed its attachments was free for the strangest adventures. Virginia Woolf attachmentadventurethinking When the Day of Judgment dawns and people, great and small, come marching in to receive their heavenly rewards, the Almighty will gaze upon the mere bookworms and say to Peter, “Look, these need no reward. We have nothing to give them. They have loved reading. Virginia Woolf readinggivingpeople Life is not a series of gig lamps symmetrically arranged; life is a luminous halo, a semi-transparent envelope surrounding us from the beginning of consciousness to the end. Virginia Woolf lampshaloslife No sooner have you feasted on beauty with your eyes than your mind tells you that beauty is vain and beauty passes Virginia Woolf vaineyemind If the best of one's feelings means nothing to the person most concerned in those feelings, what reality is left us? Virginia Woolf feelingsmeanreality Inevitably we look upon society, so kind to you, so harsh to us, as an ill-fitting form that distorts the truth; deforms the mind; fetters the will. Virginia Woolf mindsexlooks Truth had run through my fingers. Every drop had escaped. Virginia Woolf fingersrunning . . . clumsiness is often mated with a love of solitude. Virginia Woolf clumsinesssolitude This is an important book, the critic assumes, because it deals with war. This is an insignificant book because it deals with the feelings of women in a drawing-room. Virginia Woolf womenwarpeace How remorseless life is! Virginia Woolf remorselesslife-is The real novelist, the perfectly simple human being, could go on, indefinitely imaging. Virginia Woolf novelistsrealsimple We read Charlotte Bronte not for exquisite observation of character - her characters are vigorous and elementary; not for comedy - hers is grim and crude; not for a philosophic view of life - hers is that of a country parson's daughter; but for her poetry. Probably that is so with all writers who have, as she has, an overpowering personality, so that, as we say in real life, they have only to open the door to make themselves felt. Virginia Woolf doorscharacterwar I detest the masculine point of view. I am bored by his heroism, virtue, and honour. I think the best these men can do is not talk about themselves anymore. Virginia Woolf viewsmenthinking Illness is a part of every human being's experience. It enhances our perceptions and reduces self-consciousness. It is the great confessional; things are said, truths are blurted out which health conceals. Virginia Woolf consciousnessperceptionself So coming back from a journey, or after an illness, before habits had spun themselves across the surface, one felt that same unreality, which was so startling; felt something emerge. Life was most vivid then. Virginia Woolf vividillnessjourney a novelist's chief desire is to be as unconscious as possible. He has to induce in himself a state of perpetual lethargy. He wants life to proceed with the utmost quiet and regularity. He wants to see the same faces, to read the same books, to do the same things day after day, month after month, while he is writing, so that nothing may break the illusion in which he is living - so that nothing may disturb or disquiet the mysterious nosings about, feelings around, darts, dashes, and sudden discoveries of that very shy and illusive spirit, the imagination. Virginia Woolf writingdiscoverybook But when we sit together, close,’ said Bernard, ‘we melt into each other with phrases. We are edged with mist. We make an unsubstantial territory. Virginia Woolf territoryphrasestogether You send a boy to school in order to make friends - the right sort. Virginia Woolf boysorderschool As I grow old I hate the writing of letters more and more, and like getting them better and better. Virginia Woolf hateletterswriting
