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Virginia Woolf

Beneath my eyes opens—a book; I see to the bottom; the heart—I see to the depths. I know what loves are trembling into fire; how jealousy shoots its green flashes hither and thither; how intricately love crosses love; love makes knots; love brutally tears them apart. I have been knotted; I have been torn apart.… Continue reading Virginia Woolf

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Virginia Woolf

The word ‘time’ split its husk; poured out its riches over him; and from his lips flew like shells, like shavings, from a plane, without his making them, hard, white imperishable words, and flew to attach themselves to their places in an ode to Time; an immortal ode to Time. — Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway… Continue reading Virginia Woolf

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Virginia Woolf

I want to resemble a sort of liquid light which stretches beyond visibility or invisibility. Tonight I wish to have the valor and daring to belong to the moon. —Virginia Woolf, A Writer’s Diary. (Mariner Books; First edition, March 31, 2003) Originally published 1953.

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Virginia Woolf

For pain words are lacking. There should be cries, cracks, fissures, whiteness passing over chintz covers, interference with the sense of time, of space ; the sense also of extreme fixity in passing objects ; and sounds very remote and then very close ; flesh being gashed and blood sparting, a joint suddenly twisted –… Continue reading Virginia Woolf

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Autobiographical · Biographical · British Culture · Classic · Confessional · Diary · English Literature · Excerpt · Journal · Modernism · Notebook · Paraphrase · Passage · Quote · Stream of Consciousness

Virginia Woolf

I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realises an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thus we don’t have complete emotions about the present, only about the past. ― Virginia Woolf, The Diary of Virginia Woolf, Volume Three: 1925-1930. (Mariner Books; First edition, September 14, 1981)

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Virginia Woolf

Let us record the atoms as they fall upon the mind in the order in which they fall, let us trace the pattern, however disconnected and incoherent in appearance, which each sight or incident scores upon the consciousness. Let us not take it for granted that life exists more fully in what is commonly thought… Continue reading Virginia Woolf

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Virginia Woolf

The most ordinary conversation is often the most poetic, and the most poetic is precisely that which cannot be written down. — Virginia Woolf, Orlando. (Penguin Classic; Abridged edition, October 3, 2000) Originally published October 11th 1928.

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