Virginia Woolf
Virginia Woolf
Adeline Virginia Woolf, known professionally as Virginia Woolf, was an English writer and one of the foremost modernists of the twentieth century...
NationalityBritish
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth25 January 1882
CityLondon, England
fiction money room woman
A woman must have money and room of her own if she is to write fiction
art criticism fiction
... if we can imagine the art of fiction come alive and standing in our midst, she would undoubtedly bid us to break her and bullyher, as well as honour and love her, for so her youth is renewed and her sovereignty assured.
sex thinking fiction
It was strange to think that all the great women of fiction were, until Jane Austen's day, not only seen by the other sex, but seen only in relation to the other sex. And how small a part of woman's life is that ...
art order fiction
Who would not spout the family teapot in order to talk with Keats for an hour about poetry, or with Jane Austen about the art of fiction?
love thinking fiction
I am all the time thinking about poetry and fiction and you.
slumber fiction burning
Novels so often provide an anodyne and not an antidote, glide one into torpid slumbers instead of rousing one with a burning brand.
fiction problem unsolved-problems
Women and fiction remain, so far as I am concerned, unsolved problems.
fiction facts
The truer the facts the better the fiction.
altering aspect believe forever hence
These are the soul's changes. I don't believe in aging. I believe in forever altering one's aspect to the sun. Hence my optimism.
book heart known leaves past shut title
Each has his past shut in him like the leaves of a book known to him by heart and his friends can only read the title
beyond literature minded opinion others reason strewn
Literature is strewn with the wreckage of those who have minded beyond reason the opinion of others
effort mind
They went in and out of each other's minds without any effort.
adventure thinking attachment
For now she need not think of anybody. She coud be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of - to think; well not even to think. To be silent; to be alone. All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others... and this self having shed its attachments was free for the strangest adventures.
adventure goat trembling wild
If we didn't live adventurously, plucking the wild goat by the beard, and trembling over precipices, we should never be depressed, I've no doubt; but already should be faded, fatalistic and aged.