Quotes About Quote

Literature had taken possession even of her memories. She was matching him, presumably, with certain characters in the old novels...

I am the guardian of the sleeping fawn; the snow is dear to me; and the moon rising; and the silver sea.

And the supreme mystery was simply this: here was one room; there another. Did religion solve that, or love?

She was singing] a senseless singsong, so that several park keepers looked at her with suspicion and were only brought to a favorable opinion of her sanity by noticing the pearl necklace she wore.

Not as oneself did one find rest ever, in her experience (she accomplished here something dexterous with her needles) but as a wedge of darkness.

Nature, who has played so many queer tricks upon us, making us so unequally of clay and diamonds...

Lord, lord, the snobbery of the English!

She did in her own heart infinitely prefer boobies to clever men who wrote dissertations.

The urgency of the moment always missed its mark. Words fluttered sideways and struck the object inches too low. Then one gave it up; then the idea sunk back again; then one became like most middle-aged people, cautious, furtive, with wrinkles between the eyes and a look of perpetual apprehension.

It is the speed, the hot, molten effect, the lava flow of sentence into sentence that I need.

That a famous library has been cursed by a woman is a matter of complete indifference to a famous library.

The sweetness of this content overflowing runs down the walls of my mind, and liberates understanding.

But this question of love... this falling in love with women. Take Sally Seton; her relation in the old days with Sally Seton. Had that not, after all, been love?

Communication is health; communication is happiness. Communication, he muttered. 'What are you saying, Septimus?' Rezia asked, wild with terror, for he was talking to himself.

It is curious how, at every crisis, some phrase which does not fit insists upon coming to the rescue

the beauty of the world which is so soon to perish, has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder.

She raised a little mountain for the ants to climb over. She reduced them to a frenzy of indecision by this interference in their cosmogony. Some ran this way, others that.

But suppose Peter said to her, Yes, yes, but your parties—what's the sense of your parties? all she could say was (and nobody could be expected to understand): They're an offering; which sounded horribly vague. But

Really I don't like human nature unless all candied over with art.

the whole of Victorian literature done up in grey paper & neatly tied with string

There is little blood in my arm, Isabella repeated.

The secret signal which one generation passes, under disguise, to the next is loathing, hatred, despair. Dante

I'm convinced people are wrong when they say it's work that wears one; it's responsibility.

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