More Quotes by Virginia Woolf
How many times have people used a pen or paintbrush because they couldn’t pull the trigger?
For beyond the difficulty of communicating oneself, there is the supreme difficulty of being oneself.
I always had the deepest affection for people who carried sublime tears in their silences.
There must be another life, she thought, sinking back into her chair, exasperated. Not in dreams; but here and now, in this room, with living people. She felt as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice with her hair blown back; she was about to grasp something that just evaded her. There must be another life, here and now, she repeated. This is too short, too broken. We know nothing, even about ourselves.
A light here required a shadow there.
Growing up is losing some illusions, in order to acquire others.
I am made and remade continually. Different people draw different words from me.
How much better is silence; the coffee cup, the table. How much better to sit by myself like the solitary sea-bird that opens its wings on the stake. Let me sit here for ever with bare things, this coffee cup, this knife, this fork, things in themselves, myself being myself.
Incessant company is as bad as solitary confinement.
I see you everywhere, in the stars, in the river, to me you're everything that exists; the reality of everything.
