Now begins to rise in me the familiar rhythm; words that have lain dormant now lift, now toss their crests, and fall and rise, and falls again. I am a poet, yes. Surely I am a great poet.
Virginia WoolfFiction is like a spider's web, attached ever so lightly perhaps, but still attached to life at all four corners.
Virginia WoolfTags: words reading books literature fiction
...who shall measure the heat and violence of a poet's heart when caught and tangled in a woman's body?
Virginia WoolfBut then anyone who's worth anything reads just what he likes, as the mood takes him, and with extravagant enthusiasm.
Virginia WoolfTags: literary-taste
And the poem, I think, is only your voice speaking.
Virginia WoolfTags: poem
Books are the mirrors of the soul.
Virginia WoolfOften on a wet day I begin counting up; what I've read and what I haven't read.
Virginia WoolfEach 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.
Virginia WoolfFor once the disease of reading has laid upon the system it weakens so that it falls an easy prey to that other scourge which dwells in the ink pot and festers in the quill. The wretch takes to writing.
Virginia WoolfLife is not a series of gig lamps symmetrically arranged; life is a luminous halo, a semitransparent envelope surrounding us from the beginning of consciousness to the end.
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