99+ Virginia Woolf Quotes on Women, Life and A Room of One's Own - Quotes.pub

Here you will find all the famous Virginia Woolf quotes. There are more than 99+ quotes in our Virginia Woolf quotes collection. We have collected all of them and made stunning Virginia Woolf wallpapers & posters out of those quotes. You can use this wallpapers & posters on mobile, desktop, print and frame them or share them on the various social media platforms. You can download the quotes images in various different sizes for free. In the below list you can find quotes in various categories like Women, Life and A Room of One's Own

It is probable that both in life and in art the values of a woman are not the values of a man.

Distance had an extraordinary power.

To make ideas effective, we must be able to fire them off. We must put them into action.

There can be no two opinions as to what a highbrow is. He is the man or woman of thoroughbred intelligence who rides his mind at a gallop across country in pursuit of an idea.

Country Quotes

Those comfortably padded lunatic asylums which are known, euphemistically, as the stately homes of England.

My spine is soft like wax near the flame of the candle. I dream; I dream.

I will dream today; for I must unscrew my head somehow.

As I grow old I hate the writing of letters more and more, and like getting them better and better.

Richard has improved. You are right,” said Sally. “I shall go and talk to him. I shall say goodnight. What does the brain matter,” said Lady Rosseter, getting up, “compared with the heart?” “I will come,” said Peter, but he sat on for a moment. What is this terror? what is this ecstasy? he thought to himself. What is it that fills me with extraordinary excitement? It is Clarissa, he said. For there she was.

I like your energy. I love your legs. I long to see you.

The poet is always our contemporary.

King old ladies assure us that cats are often the best judges of character. A cat will always to to a good man, they say.

If one could be friendly with women, what a pleasure – the relationship so secret and private compared with relations with men. Why not write about it truthfully?

Did nature supplement what man advanced? Did she complete what he began? With equal complacence she saw his misery, condoned his meanness and acquiesced in his torture.

I should like to tidy things up and disappear.

This is not writing at all. Indeed, I could say that Shakespeare surpasses literature altogether, if I knew what I meant.

I believe that the main thing in beginning a novel is to feel, not that you can write it, but that it exists on the far side of a gulf, which words can’t cross: that it’s to be pulled through only in a breathless anguish.

As for ‘drawing you out,’ please believe I don’t do such things deliberately, with an object – It’s only that I am, as a rule, far more interested in people than they are in me – But it makes me a nuisance, I know: only an innocent nuisance.

She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. With stars in her eyes and veils in her hair, with cyclamen and wild violets.

Most of a modest woman’s life was spent, after all, in denying what, in one day at least of every year, was made obvious.

Stepping through fields of flowers and taking to her breast buds that had broken and lambs that had fallen; with the stars in her eyes and the wind in her hair – He took her bag.

History is too much about wars; biography too much about great men.

I must try to set aside half an hour in some part of my day, and consecrate it to diary writing. Give it a name and a place, and then perhaps, such is the human mind, I shall come to think it a duty, and disregard other duties for it.

It is from the middle class that writers spring, because, it is in the middle class only that the practice of writing is as natural and habitual as hoeing a field or building a house.

They start the day confident, braced, believing themselves desired at Miss Smith’s tea party; they say to themselves as they go into the room, I am the superior of half the people here, and it is thus that they speak with that self-confidence, that self-assurance, which have had such profound consequences in public life and lead to such curious notes in the margin of the private mind.

The thing about Proust is his combination of the utmost sensibility with the utmost tenacity. He searches out these butterfly shades to the last grain. He is as tough as catgut and as evanescent as a butterfly’s bloom.

There are no teachers, saints, prophets, good people, but the artists.

There is something about the present which we would not exchange, though we were offered a choice of all past ages to live in.

A biography is considered complete if it merely accounts for six or seven selves, whereas a person may well have as many as a thousand.

She was like a bird for speed, an arrow for directness.

I am extremely happy walking on the downs... I like to have space to spread my mind out in.

It is the privilege of loneliness; in privacy one may do as one chooses. One might weep if no one saw.

One likes people much better when they’re battered down by a prodigious siege of misfortune than when they triumph.

Who shall measure the hat and violence of the poet’s heart when caught and tangled in a woman’s body?

If this were the time or the place to uphold a paradox, I am half inclined to state that Norfolk is one of the most beautiful of counties.

Only longing can fill with more of itself.

I condemn you. Yet my heart yearns towards you. I would go with you through the fires of death. Yet am happiest alone.

Am I alone in my egotism when I say that never does the pale light of dawn filter through the blinds of 52 Tavistock Square but I open my eyes and exclaim, “Good God! Here I am again!” not always with pleasure, often with pain; sometimes in a spasm.

Mr. Oscar Browning was a great figure in Cambridge at one time, and used to examine the students at Girton and Newnham. Mr. Oscar Browning was wont to declare “that the impression left on his mind, after looking over any set of examination papers, was that, irrespective of the marks he might give, the best woman was intellectually the inferior of the worst man.

Humor is the first of the gifts to perish in a foreign tongue.

Coleridge certainly did not mean, when he said that a great mind is androgynous, that it is a mind that has any special sympathy with women; a mind that takes up their cause or devotes itself to their interpretation. Perhaps the androgynous mind is less apt to make these distinctions than the single-sexed mind. He meant, perhaps, that the androgynous mind is resonant and porous; that it transmits emotion without impediment; that it is naturally creative, incandescent and undivided.

Incessant company is as bad as solitary confinement.

She seemed a compound of the autumn leaves and the winter sunshine...

What I value is the naked contact of a mind.

Why have I so little control? It is the case of much waste and pain in my life.

Night had come – night that she loved of all times, night in which the reflections in the dark pool of the mind shine more clearly than by day.

We must reconcile ourselves to a season of failures and fragments.

The word-coining genius, as if thought plunged into a sea of words and came up dripping.

Life’s bare as a bone.

For if Chloe likes Olivia and Mary Carmichael knows how to express it she will light a torch in that vast chamber where nobody has yet been.