Virginia Woolf

“I am not sinuous or suave; I sit among you abrading your softness with my hardness, quenching the silver-grey flickering moth-wing quiver of words with the green spurt of my clear eyes.”

“Here she tossed her foot impatiently, and showed an inch or two of calf. A sailor on the mast, who happened to look down at the moment, started so violently that he missed his footing and only saved himself by the skin of his teeth. 'If the sight of my ankles means death to an honest fellow who, no doubt, has a wife and family to support, I must, in all humanity, keep them covered,' Orlando thought. Yet her legs were among her chieftest beauties. And she fell to thinking what an odd pass we have come to when all a woman's beauty has to be kept covered lest a sailor fall from a mast-head. 'A pox on them!' she said, realizing for the first time what, in other circumstances, she would have been taught as a child, that is to say, the sacred responsibilities of womanhood...”

“I am wrapped round with phrases, like damp straw; I glow, phosphorescent.”

“I took the print of life not outwardly, but inwardly upon the raw, the white, the unprotected fibre. I am clouded and bruised with the print of minds and faces and things so subtle that they have smell, colour, texture, substance, but no name.”

“Things were not so simple after all. She could not understand even her own feelings. She saw the most cherished of her convictions put into practice - and her eyes filled with tears. She had won fame and independence and the right to live her own life - and she wanted something different.”

“The mind which is most capable of receiving impressions is very often the least capable of drawing conclusions.”

“I to my friends, to my own heart, I to seek among phrases and fragments something unbroken.”

“Faima va dura poate două mii de ani. Și ce înseamnă două mii de ani?(întrebă domnul Ramsay, ironic, cu ochii țintă la gardul viu). Într-adevar, ce inseamnă, contemplate de pe creștetul unui munte, întinsele pustietăți ale secolelor? Până și piatra pe care o rostogolești cu vârful ghetei va dura mai mult decât Shakespeare. Iar mica lui luminiță va arde, fără prea multă strălucire, un an sau doi, dupa care va fi absorbită de o lumină mai puternică, și aceasta, la rândul ei, de o alta și mai vie.”

“Here was a woman about the year 1800 writing without hate, without bitterness, without fear, without protest, without preaching. That was how Shakespeare wrote, I thought, looking at Antony and Cleopatra; and when people compare Shakespeare and Jane Austen, they may mean that the minds of both had consumed all impediments; and for that reason we do not know Jane Austen and we do not know Shakespeare, and for that reason Jane Austen pervades every word that she wrote, and so does Shakespeare.”

“To admit authorities, however heavily furred and gowned, into our libraries and let them tell us how to read, what to read, what value to place upon what we read, is to destroy the spirit of freedom which is the breath of those sanctuaries. Everywhere else we may be bound by laws and conventions—there we have none.”

“For she had come to feel that it was the only thing worth saying--what one felt. Cleverness was silly. One must simply say what one felt.”

“I am the foam that sweeps and fills the uttermost rims of the rocks with whiteness; I am also a girl, here in this room.”

“Long ago I realized that no other person would be to me what you are.”

“I exist only in the soles of my feet and in the tired muscles of my thighs. We have been walking for hours it seems. But where? I cannot remember.”

“Noi jucăm roluri diferite; dar suntem aceeaşi.”

“No sooner have you feasted on beauty with your eyes than your mind tells you that beauty is vain and beauty passes”

“He was not afraid. At every moment Nature signified by some laughing hint like that gold spot which went round the wall--there, there, there--her determination to show, by brandishing her plumes, shaking her tresses, flinging her mantle this way and that, beautifully, always beautifully, and standing close up to breathe through her hollowed hands Shakespeare's words, her meaning.”

“All the same that one day should follow another; Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday; that one should wake up in the morning; see the sky; walk in the park...then these roses; it was enough. After that, how unbelievable death was! -- that it must end; and no one in the whole world would know how she had loved it all.”

“..the Lord who had come to renew society, who lay like a coverlet, a snow blanket smitten only by the sun, for ever unwasted, suffering for ever, the scapegoat, the eternal sufferer...”

“...her soul rusted with that grievance sticking in it”

“Sir William said he never spoke of 'madness'; he called it not having a sense of proportion.”

“Scientifically speaking, the flesh was melted off the world. His body was macerated until only the nerve fibers were left. It was spread like a veil upon a rock.”

“Effort ceases. Time flaps on the mast. There we stop; there we stand. Rigid, the skeleton of habit alone upholds the human frame”

“...when London is a grass-grown path and all those hurrying along the pavement this Wednesday morning are but bones with a few wedding rings mixed up in their dust and the gold stoppings of innumerable decayed teeth”

“The streets seemed to chafe the very air...and lift its leaves hotly, brilliantly, on waves of that divine vitality which Clarissa loved.”

“I addressed my self as one would speak to a companion with whom one is voyaging to the North Pole.”

“I need a little language such as lovers use, words of one syllable such as children speak when they come into the room and find their mother sewing and pick up some scrap of bright wool, a feather, or a shred of chintz. I need a howl; a cry. When the storm crosses the marsh and sweeps over me where I lie in the ditch unregarded I need no words. Nothing neat. Nothing that comes down with all its feet on the floor. None of those resonances and lovely echoes that break and chime from nerve to nerve in our breasts making wild music, false phrases. I have done with phrases.”

“Am dorit întotdeauna să dilat noaptea și să o umplu din ce în ce mai mult cu vise.”

“Fending for oneself alone on a desert island is really no laughing matter. It is no crying one either”

“Life is difficult; facts uncompromising; and the passage to that fabled land where our brightest hopes are extinguished, our frail barks founder in darkness, one that needs, above all, courage, truth, and the power to endure.”

“If the best of one's feelings means nothing to the person most concerned in those feelings, what reality is left us?”

“Değil mi ki lanetlenmiş bir soyuz ve batan bir gemiye zincirlenmişiz, demek bütün olanlar kötü bir şakadır; öyleyse biz de hiç değilse kendi payımıza düşeni yapalım, öbür tutsakların acısını hafifletelim, hücremizi çiçeklerle, minderlerle döşeyelim, elimizden geldiğince dürüst olalım. Bu alçak Tanrılar hep kendi bildiklerini okuyamayacaklardır - ah o fırsatını buldukça incitmekten, kırmaktan, bozmaktan kaçınmayan Tanrılar ancak bir leydi gibi davrandığınız zaman bozguna uğruyorlardı.”

“Dünya, kamçısını kaldırdı işte; bakalım nereye indirecek?”

“What was the problem then? She must try t get hold of something that evaded her. It evaded her when she thought of Mrs. Ramsay; it evaded her now when she thought of her picture. Phrases came. Visions came. Beautiful pictures. Beautiful phrases. But what she wished to get hold of was that very jar on the nerves, the thing itself before it has been made anything. Get that and start afresh; get that and start afresh;she said desperately, pitching herself firmly again before her easel. It was a miserable machine, an inefficient machine, she thought, the human apparatus for painting or feeling; it always broke down at the critical moment; heroically, one must force it on.”

“‎"Kim olduğumu bilseydim umutsuzluğa düşerdim. 'Sen bu'sun veya şu'sun' diyen birisiyle tanıştım ve hiçbir şey olmak istediğimi hissettim.”

“Cum de inima mea poate - cum mai poate, cum mai poate, repetă, pufăind din havană. Tânjind în singurătate, chinul vieții să-l îndure?”

“Here am I shedding one of my life-skins and all they will say is, 'Bernard is spending ten days in Rome'.”

“The house was left; the house was deserted. It was left like a shell on a sandhill to fill with dry salt grains now that life had left it. The long life seemed to have set in; the trifling airs, nibbling, the clammy breaths, fumbling, seemed to have triumphed. ..”

“my country is the world”

“Absorbing, mysterious, of infinite richness, this life.”

“Anyhow, she thought, they are aware of each other; they live in each other; what else is love, she asked, listening to their laughter.”

“For there she was.”

“We all indulge in the strange, pleasant process called thinking, but when it comes to saying what we think, then how little we are able to convey! The phantom is through the mind and out of the window before we can lay salt on its tail, or slowly sinking and returning to the profound darkness which it has lit up momentarily with a wandering light.”

“It won't seem to you nonsense in ten years' time,' said Mrs. Hilbery. 'Believe me, Katharine, you'll look back on this these days afterwards; you'll remember all the silly things you've said; and you'll find that your life has been built on them. The best of life is built on what we say when we're in love. It isn't nonsense Katherine,' she urged, 'it's the truth, it's the only truth.”

“I sincerely hope I’ll never fathom you. You’re mystical, serene, intriguing; you enclose such charm within you. The lustre of your presence bewitches me. I like the unreality of your mind; the whole thing is very splendid and voluptuous and absurd. It is not mere words on paper, Mrs. Nicholson, it is both my mind and heart addressing you.”

“It seemed now as if, touched by human penitence and all its toil, divine goodness had parted the curtain and displayed behind it, single, distinct, the hare erect; the wave falling; the boat rocking, which did we deserve them, should be ours always. But alas, divine goodness, twitching the cord, draws the curtain; it does not please him; he covers his treasures in a drench of hail, and so breaks them, so confuses them that it seems impossible that their calm should ever return or that we should ever compose from their fragments a perfect whole or read in the littered pieces the clear words of truth. For our penitence deserves a glimpse only; our toil respite only.”

“Rhoda comes now, having slipped in while we were not looking. She must have made a tortuous course, taking cover now behind a waiter, now behind some ornamental pillar, so as to put off as long as possible the shock of recognition, so as to be secure for one more moment to rock her petals in her basin. We wake her. We torture her. She dreads us, she despises us, yet she comes cringing to our sides because for al our cruelty there is always some name, some face which sheds a radiance, which lights up her pavements and makes it possible for her to replenish her dreams.”

“Unless I can stretch and touch something hard, I shall be blown down the eternal corridors for ever. What then can I touch? What brick, what stone? and so draw myself across the enormous gulf into my body safely?”

“I ride rough waters, and shall sink with no one to save me.”

“Her heart was made of liquid sunsets.”