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Virginia Woolf

Virginia Woolf Quotes

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Famous Virginia Woolf Quotes

“She would not say of any one in the world that they were this or were that. She felt very young; at the same time unspeakably aged. She sliced like a knife through everything; at the same time was outside, looking on. She had a perpetual sense, as she watched the taxi cabs, of being out, far out to the sea and alone; she always had the feeling that it was very, very dangerous to live even one day. Not that she thought herself clever, or much out of the ordinary. How she had got through life on the few twigs of knowledge Fraulein Daniels gave them she could not think. She knew nothing; no language, no history; she scarcely read a book now, except memoirs in bed; and yet to her it was absolutely absorbing; all this; the cabs passing; and she would not say of Peter, she would not say of herself, I am this, I am that.”

EmotionsAloneBeauty Of The World
Book:Mrs. Dalloway
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“Meanwhile the wineglasses had flushed yellow and flushed crimson; had been emptied; had been filled. And thus by degrees was lit, halfway down the spine, which is the seat of the soul, not that hard little electric light which we call brilliance, as it pops in and out upon our lips, but the more profound, subtle and subterranean glow, which is the rich yellow flame of rational intercourse. No need to hurry. No need to sparkle. No need to be anybody but oneself. We are all going to heaven and Vandyck is of the company--in other words, how good life seemed, how sweet its rewards, how trivial this grudge or that grievance, how admirable friendship and the society of one's kind, as, lighting a good cigarette, one sunk among the cushions in the window-seat.”

SocietyDrunkenness
Book:A Room of One’s Own
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“Whatever may be their use in civilised societies, mirrors are essential to all violent and heroic action. That is why Napoleon and Mussolini both insist so emphatically upon the inferiority of women, for if they were not inferior, they would cease to enlarge. That serves to explain in part the necessity that women so often are to men. And it serves to explain how restless they are under her criticism; how impossible it is for her to say to them this book is bad, this picture is feeble, or whatever it may be, without giving far more pain and rousing far more anger than a man would do who gave the same criticism. For if she begins to tell the truth, the figure in the looking-glass shrinks; his fitness for life is diminished. How is he to go on giving judgement, civilising natives, making laws, writing books, dressing up and speechifying at banquets, unless he can see himself at breakfast and at dinner at least twice the size he really is?”

Men And WomenInequality
Book:A Room of One’s Own
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“He sighed profoundly, and flung himself - there was a passion in his movements which deserves the word - on the earth at the foot of the oak tree. He loved, beneath all this summer transiency, to feel the earth's spine beneath him; for such he took the hard root of the oak tree to be; or, for image followed image, it was the back of a great horse that he was riding; or the deck of a tumbling ship - it was anything indeed, so long as it was hard, for he felt the need of something which he could attach his floating heart to; the heart that tugged at his side; the heart that seemed filled with spiced and amorous gales every evening about this time when he walked out. To the oak tree he tied it and as he lay there, gradually the flutter in and about him stilled itself; the little leaves hung, the deer stopped; the pale summer clouds stayed; his limbs grew heavy on the ground; and he lay so still that by degrees the deer stopped nearer and the rooks wheeled round him and the swallows dipped and circled and the dragonflies shot past, as if all the fertility and amorous activity of a summer's evening were woven web-like about his body.”

SummerFeeling
Book:Orlando
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“Here is nature once more at her old game of self-preservation. This train of thought, she perceives, is threatening mere waste of energy, even some collision with reality, for who will ever be able to lift a finger against Whitaker’s Table of Precedency? The Archbishop of Canterbury is followed by the Lord High Chancellor; the Lord High Chancellor is followed by the Archbishop of York. Everybody follows somebody, such is the philosophy of Whitaker; and the great thing is to know who follows whom. Whitaker knows, and let that, so Nature counsels, comfort you, instead of enraging you; and if you can’t be comforted, if you must shatter this hour of peace, think of the mark on the wall.   11 I understand Nature’s game—her prompting to take action as a way of ending any thought that threatens to excite or to pain. Hence, I suppose, comes our slight contempt for men of action—men, we assume, who don’t think. Still, there’s no harm in putting a full stop to one’s disagreeable thoughts by looking at a mark on the wall.”

FeminismThe Mark On The Wall
Book:Monday or Tuesday
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“...щойно хвороба читання вражає організм, вона ослаблює його так, що він стає легкою здобиччю іншого лиха, яке зачаїлося в чорнильниці та роз'їдає перо. Нещасний береться писати. *** - О Господи! - знову вигукнула вога на завершення своїх міркувань, - то що ж мені, зважати на думку протилежної статі, хоч би якою жахливою вона здавалася? *** Вона пригадала, як у подобі молодого чоловіка вимагала, щоб жінки були слухняні, цнотливі, з приємним запахом, у вишуканому вбранні. "Тепер мені доведеться самій заплатити таку ціну, - міркувала вона, - бо за своєю натурою жінки (з огляду на мій невеличкий досвід перебування в їхній статі) зовсім не є слухняними, цнотливими, пахучими й гарно вбраними. І яка дисципліна потрібна для виховання цих чеснот, без яких вони не зможуть насолоджуватися жодними принадами життя! *** І я ніколи не зможу влупити чоловіку по голові чи сказати просто у вічі, що він бреше, або вихоипити меча і проштрикнути його, або засідати серед рівних, носити герцогську корону, виступати під час процесу, винести комусь смертельий вирок, повести за собою армію, прогарцювати Вайтголлом на коні чи начепити на груди сімдесят дві медалі. Все, що я зможу, щойно ступлю на англійську землю, - розливати чай і запитувати в моїх лордів, який саме вони люблять. *** ... забороняти жінкам навчатися, щоб вони не могли посміятися з тебе; бути рабом якогось дівчиська у спідницях і походжати так, ніби ти володар світу... Боже, якиї дуреп вони з нас роблять і які ж ми насправді дурні! *** Те, що тиша глибшає після шуму, потребує наукового доведення. Але те, що самотність стає більш очевидною відразу потому, як вас любили, підтвердить багато жінок. *** Вона почала трішки більше сумніватися в своєму розумі, як і належить жінці, й трішки більше почала пишатися своєю зовнішністю, як це властіве жінкам. *** У чоловіка рука вільна, щоб він міг будь-якої миті вихопити меч, а жінка змушена притримувати рукою атлас сукні на плечі. Чоловік дивиться у світ прямо, ніби той викроєний для його потреб і пошитий відповідно до його вподобань. Жінка кидає обережний спідлоба, делікатно і ніби з підозрою. Якби вони носили те саме вбрання, можливо, й погляд у них був би однаковий. *** Кожна людина переживає коливання від однієї статі до іншої, і часто лише одяг стоїть на сторожі чоловічої або жіночої подоби, тим часом як під ним ховається зовсім інша стать, невидима ззовні. *** ...ілюзії розбиваються від зіткнення з реальністю, тож там, де панує ілюзія, немає місця справжньому щастю, справжній дотепності чи справжній глибині.”

FeminismIdentity
Book:Orlando
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“He would open the door of the drawing-room or the nursery, I thought, and find her among her children perhaps, or with a piece of embroidery on her knee at any rate, the center of some different order in the system of life, and the contrast between this world and his own, which might be the law courts or the House of Commons, would at once refresh and invigorate; and there would follow, even in the simplest talk, such a natural difference of opinion that the dried ideas in him would be fertilized anew; and the sight of her creating in a different medium from his own would so quicken his creative power that insensibly his sterile mind would begin to plot again, and he would find the phrase or the scene which was lacking when he put on his hat to visit her.”

InspirationalFeminismEqualityGender Equality
Book:A Room of One’s Own
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“Así queda en parte explicado que a menudo las mujeres sean imprescindibles a los hombres. Y también así se entiende mejor por qué a los hombres les intranquilizan tanto las críticas de las mujeres; por qué las mujeres no les pueden decir este libro es malo, este cuadro es flojo o lo que sea sin causar mucho más dolor y provocar mucha más cólera de los que causaría y provocaría un hombre que hiciera la misma crítica. Porque si ellas se ponen a decir la verdad, la imagen del espejo se encoge; la robustez del hombre ante la vida disminuye. ¿Cómo va a emitir juicios, civilizar indígenas, hacer leyes, escribir libros, vestirse de etiqueta y hacer discursos en los banquetes si a la hora del desayuno y de la cena no puede verse a sí mismo por lo menos de tamaño doble de lo que es?”

FeminismSelf WorthFree Will
Book:Un cuarto propio
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“The possibilities of pleasure seemed that morning so enormous and so various that to have only a moth's part in life, and a day moth's at that, appeared a hard fate, and his zest in enjoying his meagre opportunities to the full, pathetic. He flew vigorously to one corner of his compartment, and, after waiting there a second, flew across to the other. What remained for him but to fly to a third corner and then to a fourth? That was all he could do, in spite of the size of the downs, the width of the sky, the far-off smoke of houses, and the romantic voice, now and then, of a steamer out at sea. What he could do he did.”

LifePossibilityMoths
Book:Street Haunting
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“He turned from the sight of human ignorance and human fate and the sea eating the ground we stand on, which, had he been able to contemplate it fixedly might have led to something; and found consolation in trifles so slight compared with the august theme just now before him that he was disposed to slur that comfort over, to deprecate it, as if to be caught happy in a world of misery was for an honest man the most despicable of crimes.”

Happiness
Book:To the Lighthouse
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“They were happier now than they would ever be again. A tenpenny tea set made Cam happy for days. She heard them stamping and crowing on the floor above her head the moment they woke. They came bustling along the passage. Then the door sprang open and in they came, fresh as roses, staring, wide awake, as if this coming into the dining-room after was a positive event to them, and so on, with one thing after another, all day long, until she went up to say good-night to them, and found them netted in their cots like birds among cherries and raspberries, still making up stories about some little bit of rubbish-–something they heard, something they had picked up in the garden. They had all their little treasures. . . And so she went down and said to her husband, Why must they grow up and lose it all? Never will they be so happy again. And he was angry. Why take such a gloomy view of life? he said. It is not sensible. For it was odd; and he believed it to be true; that with all his gloom and desperation he was happier, more hopeful on the whole, than she was. Less exposed to human worries––perhaps that was it. He had always his work to fall back on.”

ChildhoodParenthoodGender Roles
Book:To the Lighthouse
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“My belief is that if we live another century or so — I am talking of the common life which is the real life and not of the little separate lives which we live as individuals — and have five hundred a year each of us and rooms of our own; if we have the habit of freedom and the courage to write exactly what we think; if we escape a little from the common sitting-room and see human beings not always in their relation to each other but in relation to reality; and the sky, too, and the trees or whatever it may be in themselves; if we look past Milton's bogey, for no human being should shut out the view; if we face the fact, for it is a fact, that there is no arm to cling to, but that we go alone and that our relation is to the world of reality and not only to the world of men and women, then the opportunity will come and the dead poet who was Shakespeare's sister will put on the body which she has so often laid down.”

HopeFeminismVirginia WoolfShakespeare S Sister
Book:A Room of One’s Own
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“Life, it has been agreed by everyone whose opinion is worth consulting, is the only fit subject for novelist or biographer; life, the same authorities have decided, has nothing whatever to do with sitting still in a chair and thinking. Thought and life are as the poles asunder. Therefore — since sitting in a chair and thinking is precisely what Orlando is doing now — there is nothing for it but to recite the calendar, tell one’s beads, blow one’s nose, stir the fire, look out of the window, until she has done… Surely, since she is a woman, and a beautiful woman, and a woman in the prime of life, she will soon give over this pretence of writing and thinking and begin at least to think of a gamekeeper (and as long as she thinks of a man, nobody objects to a woman thinking). And then she will write him a little note (and as long as she writes little notes nobody objects to a woman writing either) and make an assignation for Sunday dusk… She was kind to dogs, faithful to friends, generosity itself to a dozen starving poets, had a passion for poetry. But love — as the male novelists define it — and who, after all, speak with greater authority? — has nothing whatever to do with kindness, fidelity, generosity, or poetry. Love is slipping off one’s petticoat and — But we all know what love is… If then, the subject of one’s biography will neither love nor kill, but will only think and imagine, we may conclude that he or she is no better than a corpse and so leave her.”

WritingSexismBiographyIntellectualismDH Lawrence
Book:Orlando
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“Some change at once went through them all, as if this had really happened, and they were all conscious of making a party together...; had their common cause against that fluidity out there... and now the same effect was got by the many candles in the sparely furnished room, and the uncurtained windows, and the bright mask-like look of faces seen by candlelight. Some weight was taken off them; anything might happen…”

DinnerGatheringDinner Party
Book:To the Lighthouse
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“And I tried to remember any case in the course of my reading where two women are represented as friends. (...) almost without exception they are shown in their relation to men. (...) [women in fiction were] not only seen by the other sex, but seen only in relation to the other sex. And how small a part of a woman's life is that”

WomenFeminismRepresentationPatriarchyFemale FriendshipFemale BondingWomen Being Friends
Book:A Room of One’s Own
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“London has swallowed up many millions of young men called Smith... Lodging off the Euston Road, there were experiences, again experiences, such as change a face in two years from a pink innocent oval to a face lean, contracted, hostile. But of all this what could the most observant of friends have said except what a gardener says when he opens the conservatory door in the morning and finds a new blossom on his plant: — It has flowered; flowered from vanity, ambition, idealism, passion, loneliness, courage, laziness, the usual seeds, which all muddled up (in a room off the Euston Road), made him shy, and stammering, made him anxious to improve himself, made him fall in love with Miss Isabel Pole, lecturing in the Waterloo Road upon Shakespeare. Was he not like Keats? she asked; and reflected how she might give him a taste of Antony and Cleopatra and the rest; lent him books; wrote him scraps of letters; and lit in him such a fire as burns only once in a lifetime, without heat, flickering a red gold flame infinitely ethereal and insubstantial over Miss Pole; Antony and Cleopatra; and the Waterloo Road. He thought her beautiful, believed her impeccably wise; dreamed of her, wrote poems to her, which, ignoring the subject, she corrected in red ink; he saw her, one summer evening, walking in a green dress in a in a green dress in a square. ‘It has flowered,’ the gardener might have said, had he opened the door; had he come in, that is to say, any night about this time, and found him writing; found him tearing up his writing; found him finishing a masterpiece at three o'clock in the morning and running out to pace the streets, and visiting churches, and fasting one day, drinking another, devouring Shakespeare, Darwin, The History of Civilisation, and Bernard Shaw.”

YouthPersonal DevelopmentYoung LovePassionate LivingPassionate LifeBeing YoungBeauty Of YouthFlame Of Youth
Book:Mrs. Dalloway
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“...it was encouraging too, for where the returned Anglo-Indian sat by rights (he knew crowds of them) in the Oriental Club biliously summing up the ruin of the world, here was he, as young as ever; envying young people their summer time and the rest of it, and more than suspecting from the words of a girl, from a housemaid's laughter — intangible things you couldn't lay your hands on—that shift in the whole pyramidal accumulation which in his youth had seemed immoveable. On top of them it had pressed; weighed them down, the women especially, like those flowers Clarissa's Aunt Helena used to press between sheets of grey blotting-paper with Littré's dictionary on top, sitting under the lamp after dinner.”

YouthLost YouthBeing YoungYoung Vs OldFeeling YoungGone Youth
Book:Mrs. Dalloway
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