Quotes from Virginia Woolf

Entonces cómo va a saber una esto o aquello de los demás, se había preguntado, si la gente se aísla de un modo tan hermético?

Raising her eyebrows at the discrepancy – that was what she was thinking, this was what she was doing – ladling out soup – she felt, more and more strongly, outside that eddy; or as if a shade had fallen, and, robbed of colour, she saw things truly. The room (she looked round it) was very shabby. There was no beauty anywhere.

Nunca más me estrellaré contra un farol (pero algunas estrellas proyectadas por la violencia de aquel choque resplandecen aún hermosamente en mi noche)

She will write in a rage where she should write calmly. She will write foolishly where she should write wisely. She will write of herself where she should write of her characters. She is at war with her lot. How could she help but die young, cramped and thwarted?

To talk of 'prizing her open' as if she were an oyster, to use any but the finest and subtlest and most pliable tools upon her was impious and absurd.

any one who's worth anything reads just what he likes, as the mood takes him, with extravagant enthusiasm.

Why did men drink wine and women water? Why was one sex so prosperous and the other so poor? What effect has poverty on fiction? What conditions are necessary for the creation of works of art?—a

The soul must brave itself to endure.

Shakespeare is getting flyblown; a paternal government might well forbid writing about him, as they put his monument at Stratford beyond the reach of scribbling fingers. With all this buzz of criticism about, one may hazard one's conjectures privately, make one's notes in the margin; but, knowing that someone has said it before, or said it better, the zest is gone. Illness, it its kingly sublimity, sweeps all that aside and leaves nothing but Shakespeare and oneself.

çünkü arkas?nda belli bir neden yoksa kad?nlar herhangi bir ilgiden çok kuÅŸkulan?rlar, gizlemeye ve bast?rmaya öyle fena al??m??lard?r ki, kendilerine dikilen bir göz k?rp?ld??? anda f?rlay?p kaçmaya haz?rd?rlar.

We are doomed, all of us. Women shuffle past with shopping bags. People keep on passing. Yet you shall not destroy me. For this moment, this one moment, we are together. I press you to me. Come, pain, feed on me. Bury your fangs in my flesh. Tear me asunder. I sob, I sob.

Here is something definite, something real. Thus, waking from a midnight dream of horror, one hastily turns on the light and lies quiescent, worshipping the chest of drawers, worshipping solidity, worshipping reality, worshipping the impersonal world which is a proof of some existence other than ours. That is what one wants to be sure of…

Egli la contemplò; tremò; ebbe caldo; ebbe freddo; anelò di lanciarsi tra il soffio ardente dell'estate; di premere il piede su delle ghiande; di allacciare con le braccia tronchi di faggi e di querce.

We had nothing to say to each other; and I was conscious that not only my remarks but my presence was criticized. They wished for the truth, and doubted whether a woman could speak it or be it. I thought this courageous of them; but unsympathetic. I had to remember that one is not full grown at 21.

She seemed determined to be human also; to like people, even though they were stupid.

But whatever effect discouragement and criticism had upon their writing—and I believe that they had a very great effect

odd, he thought, how the thought of childhood keeps coming back to me. The result of seeing Clarissa, perhaps; for women live much more in the past than we do, he thought.

And as it went on I set it against the background of that other talk, and as I matched the two together I had no doubt that one was the descendant, the legitimate heir of the other.

She lacks mystery; and the charm people have who withdraw, and don't care to coin their views. One figures her always in flight; so much determined to embrace everything that she fails.

The word 'time' split its husk; poured its riches over him; and from his lips fell 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.

Pareva più il ricordo del dolore che il dolore stesso.

Kim olduÄŸumu bilseydim umutsuzluÄŸa düÅŸerdim. 'Sen bu'sun veya ÅŸu'sun' diyen birisiyle tan??t?m ve hiçbir ÅŸey olmak istediÄŸimi hissettim.

After that, how unbelievable death was! - that it must end; and no one in the whole world would know how she had loved it all; how, every instant . . .

Dünya, kamç?s?n? kald?rd? iÅŸte; bakal?m nereye indirecek?