Fiction here is likely to contain more truth than fact.

Virginia Woolf


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The strange thing about life is that though the nature of it must have been apparent to every one for hundreds of years, no one has left any adequate account of it.

Virginia Woolf


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I don't think two people could have been happier than we have been.

Virginia Woolf


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Are we not all prisoners? She had read a wonderful play about a man who scratched on the wall of his cell, and she had felt that was true of life—one scratched on the wall.

Virginia Woolf

Tag: life freedom limitations



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Do not dictate to your author; try to become him. Be his fellow-worker and accomplice.

Virginia Woolf


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The proper stuff of fiction” does not exist everything is the proper stuff of fiction every feeling every thought every quality of brain and spirit is drawn upon no perception comes amiss. And if we can imagine the art of fiction come alive and standing in our midst she would undoubtedly bid us break her and bully her as well as honour and love her for so her youth is renewed and her sovereignty assured.

Virginia Woolf

Tag: fiction



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There's just this….an hour here or there when our lives seem, against all odds and expectations, to burst open and give us everything we've ever imagined.

Virginia Woolf

Tag: life



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There is no doubt in my mind, that I have found out how to begin (at 40) to say something in my own voice.

Virginia Woolf


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Big Ben struck the half hour.

How extraordinary it was, strange, yes, touching, to see the old lady (they had been neighbors ever so many years) move away from the window, as if she were attached to that sound, that string. Gigantic as it was, it had something to do with her. Down, down, into the midst of ordinary things the finger fell making the moment solemn. She was forced, so Clarissa imagined, by that sound, to move, to go - but where? Clarissa tried to follow her as she turned and disappeared, and could still just see her white cap moving at the back of the bedroom. She was still there moving about at the other end of the room. Why creeds and prayers and mackintoshes? when, thought Clarissa, that's the miracle, that's the mystery; that old lady, she meant, whom she could see going from chest of drawers to dressing table. She could still see her. And the supreme mystery, which Kilman might say she had solved, or Peter might say he had solved, but Clarissa didn't believe either of them had the ghost of an idea of solving, was simply this: here was one room, there another. Did religion solve that, or love?

Virginia Woolf


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When the Day of Judgment dawns and people, great and small, come marching in to receive their heavenly rewards, the Almighty will gaze upon the mere bookworms and say to Peter, “Look, these need no reward. We have nothing to give them. They have loved reading.

Virginia Woolf

Tag: reading book-lovers bookworms heavenly-rewards judgment



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