Nothing induces me to read a novel except when I have to make money by writing about it. I detest them. Virginia Woolf More Quotes by Virginia Woolf More Quotes From Virginia Woolf By the truth we are undone. Life is a dream. 'Tis the waking that kills us. He who robs us of our dreams robs us of our life. Virginia Woolf waking life-is dream Peter would think her sentimental. So she was. For she had come to feel that it was the only thing worth saying – what one felt. Cleverness was silly. One must say simply what one felt. Virginia Woolf sentimental silly thinking It is worth mentioning, for future reference, that the creative power which bubbles so pleasantly in beginning a new book quiets down after a time, and one goes on more steadily. Doubts creep in. Then one becomes resigned. Determination not to give in, and the sense of an impending shape keep one at it more than anything. Virginia Woolf determination writing book Style is a very simple matter; it is all rhythm. Once you get that, you can't use the wrong words. But on the other hand here am I sitting after half the morning, crammed with ideas, and visions, and so on, and can't dislodge them, for lack of the right rhythm. Now this is very profound, what rhythm is, and goes far deeper than any words. A sight, an emotion, creates this wave in the mind, long before it makes words to fit it. Virginia Woolf simple sight morning Friendships, even the best of them, are frail things. One drifts apart. Virginia Woolf frail What is amusing now had to be taken in desperate earnest once. Virginia Woolf humor taken history In illness words seem to possess a mystic quality. Virginia Woolf mystic illness quality Are we so made that we have to take death in small doses daily or we could not go on with the business of living? Virginia Woolf dose goes-on made It is equally vain,” she thought, “for you to think you can protect me, or for me to think I can worship you. The light of truth beats upon us without shadow, and the light of truth is damnably unbecoming to us both. Virginia Woolf worship-you light thinking O why do I ever let anyone read what I write! Every time I have to go through a breakfast with a letter of criticism I swear I will write for my own praise or blame in future. It is a misery. Virginia Woolf criticism writing breakfast A woman knows very well that, though a wit sends her his poems, praises her judgment, solicits her criticism, and drinks her tea, this by no means signifies that he respects her opinions, admires her understanding, or will refuse, though the rapier is denied him, to run through the body with his pen. Virginia Woolf women running mean Sleep, that deplorable curtailment of the joy of life. Virginia Woolf insomnia sleep life Money dignifies what is frivolous if unpaid for. Virginia Woolf frivolous ifs Where the Mind is biggest, the Heart, the Senses, Magnanimity, Charity, Tolerance, Kindliness, and the rest of them scarcely have room to breathe. Virginia Woolf tolerance mind heart With her foot on the threshold she waited a moment longer in a scene which was vanishing even as she looked, and then, as she moved and took Minta's arm and left the room, it changed, it shaped itself differently; it had become, she knew, giving one last look at it over her shoulder, already the past. Virginia Woolf feet giving past He smiled the most exquisite smile, veiled by memory, tinged by dreams. Virginia Woolf exquisite dream memories She belonged to a different age, but being so entire, so complete, would always stand up on the horizon, stone-white, eminent, like a lighthouse marking some past stage on this adventurous, long, long voyage, this interminable --- this interminable life. Virginia Woolf white long past Really I don't like human nature unless all candied over with art. Virginia Woolf nature humans art There was a day when I liked writing letters -- it has gone. Unfortunately the passion for getting them remains. Virginia Woolf passion gone writing Masterpieces are not single and solitary births; they are the outcome of many years of thinking in common, of thinking by the body of the people, so that the experience of the mass is behind the single voice. Virginia Woolf voice years thinking
