1,646 Quotes by Virginia Woolf

  • Author Virginia Woolf
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    Si doveva avere la tempra di una testa calda per dire a se stesse, Oh, ma non possono comprare anche la letteratura. La letteratura è aperta a tutti. Non ti riconosco l'autorità, anche se sei il guardiano, di scacciarmi dal prato. Chiudete pure a chiave le vostre biblioteche se volete, ma non c'è cancello, serratura o chiavistello che possiate mettere alla libertà della mia mente.

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  • Author Virginia Woolf
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    The public and private worlds are inseparably connected ... the tyrannies and servilities of one are the tyrannies and servilities of the other.

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  • Author Virginia Woolf
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    The horrible domestic tradition which made it seemly for a woman of genius to spend her time chasing beetles, scouring saucepans, instead of writing books.

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  • Author Virginia Woolf
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    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 the very opposite of what it is above.

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  • Author Virginia Woolf
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    It was nothing you could put your finger on; there had been no scene, no snap; only the slow sinking, water-logged, of her will into his. Sweet was her smile, swift her submission (...).

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  • Author Virginia Woolf
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    They thought, or Peter at any rate thought, that she enjoyed imposing herself; liked to have famous people about her; great names; was simply a snob in short. Well, Peter might think so. Richard merely thought it foolish of her to like excitement when she knew it was bad for her heart. It was childish, he thought. And both were quite wrong. What she liked was simply life.

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  • Author Virginia Woolf
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    It was extraordinary how Peter put her into these states just by coming and standing in a corner. He made her see herself; exaggerate. It was idiotic. But why did he come, then, merely to criticise? Why always take, never give? Why not risk one’s one little point of view?

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  • Author Virginia Woolf
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    La indiferencia del mundo, que Keats, Flaubert y otros han encontrado tan difícil de soportar, en el caso de la mujer no era indiferencia, sino hostilidad. El mundo no le decía a ella como les decía a ellos: "Escribe si quieres; a mí no me importa". El mundo le decía burlándose: "¿Escribir? ¿Para qué quieres tú escribir?".

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