1,646 Quotes by Virginia Woolf

Keşke Richard gibi her davranışında yalnızca o davranışın sonucunu amaçlayan insanlardan biri olsaydı, oysa kendisi (karşıya geçmek için bekledi) davranışlarının çoğunu karmaşık hale getirir, başka amaçlara sapardı; insanlar şunu bunu desinler diye; düpedüz ahmaklıktı bunu biliyordu (işte polis elini kaldırıyor), çünkü bir an bile aldanmıyordu kimse. Ah yeni baştan yaşayabilseydim hayatımı diye düşündü kaldırıma çıkarken, keşke görünüşüm bile başka olsaydı!

Всяко глаголно време - каза Невил - означава нещо различно. Има порядък в този свят; има особености, има различия в този свят, по ръба на който ходя. Защото това е само едно начало.

I like people to be unhappy because I like them to have souls.

I need someone whose mind falls like a chopper on a block; to whom the pitch of absurdity is sublime, and a shoestring adorable. To whom can I expose the urgency of my own passion?

Let us simmer over our incalculable cauldron, our enthralling confusion, our hotchpotch of impulses, our perpetual miracle - for the soul throws up wonders every second. Movement and change are the essence of our being; rigidity is death; conformity is death; let us say what comes into our heads, repeat ourselves, contradict ourselves, fling out the wildest nonsense, and follow the most fantastic fancies without caring what the world does or thinks or says. For nothing matters except life.

Meanwhile, let us abolish the ticking of time’s clock with one blow. Come closer.

Must, must, must — detestable word. Once more, I who had thought myself immune, who had said, "Now I am rid of all that", find that the wave has tumbled me over, head over heels, scattering my possessions, leaving me to collect, to assemble, to head together, to summon my forces, rise and confront the enemy.

The wave paused, and then drew out again, sighing like a sleeper whose breath comes and goes unconsciously.

And somehow or other, the windows being open, and the book held so that it rested upon a background of escallonia hedges and distant blue, instead of being a book it seemed as if what I read was laid upon the landscape not printed, bound, or sewn up, but somehow the product of trees and fields and the hot summer sky, like the air which swam, on fine mornings, round the outline of things.