Nothing induces me to read a novel except when I have to make money by writing about it. I detest them.
This is not writing at all. Indeed, I could say that Shakespeare surpasses literature altogether, if I knew what I meant.
He who robs us of our dreams robs us of our life. – Virginia Woolf
The beauty of the world…has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder. – Virginia Woolf
Take this guinea then and use it, not to burn the house down, but to make its windows blaze. And let the daughters of uneducated women dance round the new house, the poor house, the house that stands in a narrow street where omnibuses pass and the street hawkers cry their wares, and let them […]
Therefore I would ask you to write all kinds of books, hesitating at no subject however trivial or however vast. By hook or by crook, I hope that you will possess yourselves of money enough to travel and to idle, to contemplate the future or the past of the world, to dream over books and […]
Yet there are moments when the walls of the mind grow thin; when nothing is unabsorbed, and I could fancy that we might blow so vast a bubble that the sun might set and rise in it and we might take the blue of midday and the black of midnight and be cast off and […]
Arrange whatever pieces come your way. – Virginia Woolf
You send a boy to school in order to make friends – the right sort. – Virginia Woolf