About here, she thought, dabbling her fingers in the water, a ship had sunk, and she murmured, dreamily, half asleep, how we perished, each alone. — Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse. (Pomona Press, January 1, 2006) Originally published 1927. Advertisements
I, whom loneliness destroys, let silence fall, drop by drop. —Virginia Woolf, The Waves. (Harvest Books 1978) Originally published October 8th 1931.
For once the disease of reading has laid upon the system it weakens it so that it falls an easy prey to that other scourge which dwells in the inkpot and festers in the quill. The wretch takes to writing. — Virginia Woolf, Orlando. (Penguin Classic; Abridged edition, October 3, 2000) Originally published October 11th… Continue reading Virginia Woolf
I begin to long for some little language such as lovers use, broken words, inarticulate words, like the shuffling of feet on pavement. ― Virginia Woolf, The Waves. (Harvest Books 1978) Originally published October 8th 1931.
What if I told you I’m incapable of tolerating my own heart? — Virginia Woolf, Night and Day. (Penguin Classics; Reprint edition, January 1, 1996) Originally published October 1919.
I live; I die; the sea comes over me; it’s the blue that lasts. — Virginia Woolf, Melymbrosia. (Cleis Press, September 27, 2004) Virginia Woolf completed Melymbrosia in 1912 . Originally published posthumously 1981.
That dream, of sharing, completing, of finding in solitude on the beach an answer, was then but a reflection in a mirror, and the mirror itself was but the surface glassiness which forms in quiescence when the nobler powers sleep beneath? Impatient, despairing yet loth to go (for beauty offers her lures, has her consolations),… Continue reading Virginia Woolf