Quotes About Author

The doors go shutting far in the distance, gently knocking like the pulse of a heart.

Jane Austen) is the most difficult to catch in the act of greatness.

It is a still stranger thing that there is nothing so delightful in the world as telling stories. It is far pleasanter than writing reviews of famous novels.

I almost envied him the possession of this modest and clear flame.

Cierra con llave tus bibliotecas, si quieres, pero no hay barrera, cerradura, ni cerrojo que puedas imponer a la libertad de mi mente.

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

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.

Unhappiness is everywhere; just beyond the door; or stupidity, which is worse

By conviction an atheist perhaps, he is taken by surprise with moments of extraordinary exaltation. Nothing

Or is anger, I wondered, somehow, the familiar, the attendant sprite of power?

he truth is that writing is the profound pleasure and being read the superficial.

These garden graveyards are the most peaceful of our London sanctuaries and their dead the quietest.

Woolf was breaking new ground in the way she rendered consciousness and her understanding of human subjectivity.

To follow her thought was like following a voice which speaks too quickly to be taken down by one's pencil, and the voice was her own voice saying without prompting undeniable, everlasting, contradictory things.

Charlotte Brontë, with all her splendid gift for prose, stumbled and fell with that clumsy weapon in her hands. George Eliot committed atrocities with it that beggar description. Jane Austen looked at it and laughed at it and devised a perfectly natural, shapely sentence proper for her own use and never departed from it. Thus, with less genius for writing than Charlotte Brontë, she got infinitely more said.

And Oliver, rising, could hear the rustle of the dress of the Duchess as she came down the passage.

Me atrevería a decir que Anon, que escribió tantos poemas sin firmarlos, era una mujer.

It is ten years since Virginia Woolf published her last volume of collected essays, THE COMMON READER: SECOND SERIES. At the time of her death she was already engaged in getting together essays for a further volume, which she proposed to publish in the autumn of 1941 or the spring Of 1942. She also intended to publish a new book of short stories, including in it some or all of MONDAY OR TUESDAY, which has been long out of print. She left

The great revelation had never come. Instead there were daily little miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark, here was one.

How she had loved sound when she was a boy, and thought the volley of tumultuous syllables from the lips the finest of all poetry.

I appealed to her stale flesh very seldom, only in cases of great urgency and despair.

Loneliness as a situation can be corrected, but as a state of mind it is an incurable illness.

Satire is a lesson, parody is a game.

Nymphets do not occur in polar regions.