Virginia Woolf Quotes
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Virginia Woolf, a pioneering modernist writer, explored the depths of human consciousness and the nuances of everyday life with eloquence and insight. Her quotes reflect her keen observations on creativity, identity, and the human experience. Together, they offer timeless inspiration for introspection, self-expression, and the pursuit of intellectual and emotional depth.
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.
From Orlando
The very stone one kicks with one's boot will outlast Shakespeare.
From To the Lighthouse
Therefore I would ask you to write all kinds of books, hesitating at no subject however trivial or however vast. By hook or by crook, I hope that you will possess yourselves of money enough to travel and to idle, to contemplate the future or the past of the world, to dream over books and loiter at street corners and let the line of thought dip deep into the stream.
From A Room of One’s Own
Indeed there has never been any explanation of the ebb and flow in our veins--of happiness and unhappiness.
From Jacob's Room
We are only lightly covered with buttoned cloth; and beneath these pavements are shells, bones and silence.
From The Waves
Mr Ramsay, stumbling along a passage one dark morning, stretched his arms out, but Mrs Ramsay having died rather suddenly the night before, his arms, though stretched out, remained empty.
From To the Lighthouse
Arrange whatever pieces come your way.
From A Writer's Diary
Yet there are moments when the walls of the mind grow thin; when nothing is unabsorbed, and I could fancy that we might blow so vast a bubble that the sun might set and rise in it and we might take the blue of midday and the black of midnight and be cast off and escape from here and now.
From The Waves
He turned from the sight of human ignorance and human fate and the sea eating the ground we stand on, which, had he been able to contemplate it fixedly might have led to something; and found consolation in trifles so slight compared with the august theme just now before him that he was disposed to slur that comfort over, to deprecate it, as if to be caught happy in a world of misery was for an honest man the most despicable of crimes.
From To the Lighthouse
He who robs us of our dreams robs us of our life.
From Orlando
I enjoy almost everything. Yet I have some restless searcher in me. Why is there not a discovery in life? Something one can lay hands on and say “This is it”? My depression is a harassed feeling. I’m looking: but that’s not it — that’s not it. What is it? And shall I die before I find it?
From A Writer's Diary
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.
From Orlando
The very stone one kicks with one's boot will outlast Shakespeare.
From To the Lighthouse
Therefore I would ask you to write all kinds of books, hesitating at no subject however trivial or however vast. By hook or by crook, I hope that you will possess yourselves of money enough to travel and to idle, to contemplate the future or the past of the world, to dream over books and loiter at street corners and let the line of thought dip deep into the stream.
From A Room of One’s Own
Indeed there has never been any explanation of the ebb and flow in our veins--of happiness and unhappiness.
From Jacob's Room
We are only lightly covered with buttoned cloth; and beneath these pavements are shells, bones and silence.
From The Waves
Mr Ramsay, stumbling along a passage one dark morning, stretched his arms out, but Mrs Ramsay having died rather suddenly the night before, his arms, though stretched out, remained empty.
From To the Lighthouse
Arrange whatever pieces come your way.
From A Writer's Diary
Yet there are moments when the walls of the mind grow thin; when nothing is unabsorbed, and I could fancy that we might blow so vast a bubble that the sun might set and rise in it and we might take the blue of midday and the black of midnight and be cast off and escape from here and now.
From The Waves
He turned from the sight of human ignorance and human fate and the sea eating the ground we stand on, which, had he been able to contemplate it fixedly might have led to something; and found consolation in trifles so slight compared with the august theme just now before him that he was disposed to slur that comfort over, to deprecate it, as if to be caught happy in a world of misery was for an honest man the most despicable of crimes.
From To the Lighthouse
He who robs us of our dreams robs us of our life.
From Orlando
I enjoy almost everything. Yet I have some restless searcher in me. Why is there not a discovery in life? Something one can lay hands on and say “This is it”? My depression is a harassed feeling. I’m looking: but that’s not it — that’s not it. What is it? And shall I die before I find it?
From A Writer's Diary
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.
From Orlando
The very stone one kicks with one's boot will outlast Shakespeare.
From To the Lighthouse
Therefore I would ask you to write all kinds of books, hesitating at no subject however trivial or however vast. By hook or by crook, I hope that you will possess yourselves of money enough to travel and to idle, to contemplate the future or the past of the world, to dream over books and loiter at street corners and let the line of thought dip deep into the stream.
From A Room of One’s Own
Indeed there has never been any explanation of the ebb and flow in our veins--of happiness and unhappiness.
From Jacob's Room
We are only lightly covered with buttoned cloth; and beneath these pavements are shells, bones and silence.
From The Waves
Mr Ramsay, stumbling along a passage one dark morning, stretched his arms out, but Mrs Ramsay having died rather suddenly the night before, his arms, though stretched out, remained empty.
From To the Lighthouse
Arrange whatever pieces come your way.
From A Writer's Diary
Yet there are moments when the walls of the mind grow thin; when nothing is unabsorbed, and I could fancy that we might blow so vast a bubble that the sun might set and rise in it and we might take the blue of midday and the black of midnight and be cast off and escape from here and now.
From The Waves
He turned from the sight of human ignorance and human fate and the sea eating the ground we stand on, which, had he been able to contemplate it fixedly might have led to something; and found consolation in trifles so slight compared with the august theme just now before him that he was disposed to slur that comfort over, to deprecate it, as if to be caught happy in a world of misery was for an honest man the most despicable of crimes.
From To the Lighthouse
He who robs us of our dreams robs us of our life.
From Orlando
I enjoy almost everything. Yet I have some restless searcher in me. Why is there not a discovery in life? Something one can lay hands on and say “This is it”? My depression is a harassed feeling. I’m looking: but that’s not it — that’s not it. What is it? And shall I die before I find it?
From A Writer's Diary
