Quotes About Virginia Woolf

I want to make the feminine scar. Helen of Troy was, after all, unfecundable. She was one of the rigid ones, like [Virginia] Woolf and [Rebecca] West.

Then we bought about ten tiny buttons with pictures on them. The faces included Virginia Woolf, Jimi Hendrix, Stephen Hawking, and Janis Joplin, but Claud didn't know who any of them were. She just picked them because they looked "funky.

The beauty of the world…has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder. —Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own (part 3, Pretties)

There can be no two opinions as to what a highbrow is. He is the man or woman of thoroughbred intelligence who rides his mind at a gallop across country in pursuit of an idea.

The beauty of the world . . . has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder. —Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own

So the days pass, and I ask myself whether one is not hypnotized, as a child by a silver globe, by life, and whether this is living.

Like Virginia Woolf said, every woman writer needs five hundred pounds a year and a room of one's own.

The other day I came across a book which illustrates in a rather droll way the extent to which Northern European women have taken it for granted that this peculiar North European form of the subjection of women since the Reformation was characteristic of the whole past of Europe. It was a little essay by an English writer, Virginia Woolf—I confess that it is all I have read of hers,1 but she is said to have a great reputation as a novelist.

Literature is strewn with the wreckage of men who have minded beyond reason the opinions of others.

If this were the time or the place to uphold a paradox, I am half inclined to state that Norfolk is one of the most beautiful of counties.

And when we are writing the life of a woman, we may, it is agreed, waive our demand for action, and substitute love instead. Love, the poet has said, is a woman's whole existence.

VIRGINIA WOOLF LOVED SOHO. IN THE EARLY 1920S, HER FAVORITE URBAN itinerary brought her to this old, foreign quarter of central London, located to the west of Bloomsbury. Her "usual round," as she put it, involved a journey from Gordon Square, where her sister Vanessa still lived, to the bookish fringes of Soho.

Virginia Woolf said that people read fiction the same way they listen to gossip, so if you're reading this at all then you might as well read my private asides written so he'll read it. I have to be extremely funny and wonderful around him just to get his attention at all and it's a shame to let it all go for one person.

Right now she is reading Virginia Woolf, all of Virginia Woolf, book by book-She is fascinated by the idea of a woman like that, a woman of such brilliance, such strangeness, such immeasurable sorrow; a woman who had genius but still filled her pocket with a stone and waded out into a river.

On Virginia Woolf] Craving to be set free from her egomania by something or someone stronger and altogether dissimilar from herself, she speculated endlessly upon the unknown: and for her the unknown was frequently the commonplace.

Love and religion! thought Clarissa, going back into the drawing room, tingling all over. How detestable, how detestable they are!

I fell in love with Virginia Woolf in college. I especially admire how well she writes about daily life, how she captures so much meaning and consequence in the smallest details of a day.

Virginia Woolf described in her fiction her chracters' pain in childhood way and linked it to their emotional lives as adults in a way that was ahead of its time. "It's a fallacy to think that children are unhappy... I've never suffered so much as I did when I was a child," says Richard Dalloway M.P., in The Voyage Out.

To Woolf, in other words, solitude is not a pleasant diversion, but instead a form of liberation from the cognitive oppression that results in its absence. [referencing Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own]

To Woolf, in other words, solitude is not a pleasant diversion, but instead a form of liberation from the cognitive oppression that results in its absence.

At Cambridge I took minor (John major) part in a Virginia Woolf centenary conference. As I hadn't read any VW since school (possibly college) days, I felt bound to reread at least all the novels. It's super to wake up now in the morning and realise I don't have to read a Virginia Woolf novel today. I am prepared to admire some of the stuff but do not like either it or her

He is limp and damp and milder than the breath of a cow.

The college 'should teach the arts of human intercourse; the art of understanding other people's lives and minds, and the little arts of talk, of dress, of cookery that are allied with them.' Not being a systematic thinker, to put it kindly, Mrs. Woolf here fails to realise that she is proposing to enclose women in precisely the little domestic world from which she also claims to be rescuing them.

But it is worth recalling the almost genocidal class hatreds of many leading liberal-left intellectuals, because they show that the motives of a part of the intelligentsia were anything but honourable. They did not want the welfare state to reward their fellow citizens for what they and their ancestors had suffered. They wanted the welfare state to transform them from brutes into men or women whose company Virginia Woolf could tolerate.