book's cover

Virginia Woolf ..
But looking for eloquent phrases I found none to stand beside your name.

(25 January 1882 – 28 March 1941) 


“I want coronets; but they must be old coronets; coronets that carry land with them and country houses; coronets that breed simplicity, eccentricity, ease.”

Virginia Woolffrom her essay Am I a Snob?”, written in 1936

1:30 pm  9 notes

“Yesterday morning I was in despair. […] and at last dropped my head in my hands: dipped my pen in the ink, and wrote these words, as if automatically, on a clean sheet: Orlando: A Biography. No sooner had I done this than my body was flooded with rapture and my brain with ideas. I wrote rapidly till 12.”

Virginia Woolf, on writing Orlando from a letter to Vita Sackville-West

1:23 pm  22 notes

1:23 pm  12 notes

The interior of Monk’s House by samacarrick

“… with her, they were entirely open and at their ease. […]
They had nothing to conceal. She knew their sorrows and joys. She knew what age each part of them was and its little secrets—a hidden drawer, a concealed cupboard, or some deficiency perhaps, such as a part made up, or added later. They, too, knew her in all her moods and changes. She had hidden nothing from them; had come to them as boy and woman, crying and dancing, brooding and gay.”

Virginia Woolf, Orlando: A Biography

1:15 pm  9 notes

“Leonard went to the office, I to the Brit⁠ish Mus⁠eum; where all was chill serenity, dignity & severity. Written up are the names of great men; & we all cower like mice nibbling crumbs in our most official discreet impersonal mood beneath. I like this dusty bookish atmosphere. Most of the readers seemed to have rubbed their noses off & written their eyes out.”

Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry dated, 7 May 1926

5:02 pm  33 notes


T.S. Eliot and Virginia Woolf photographed by Lady Ottoline Morrell in June 1924

3:36 pm  111 notes


T.S. Eliot and Virginia Woolf photographed by Lady Ottoline Morrell in June 1924
“D’you think you do make enough allowance for feelings?" […]
“I should call yours a singularly untidy mind,” he observed. “Feelings? Aren’t they just what we do allow for? We put love up there, and all the rest somewhere down below.”

— Virginia Woolf, The Voyage Out

3:35 pm  23 notes

“I feel that I can float everything off now; & “everything” is rather a crowd & weight & confusion in the mind.”

— Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry dated, 23 February 1926

3:33 pm  282 notes

“I want to lie down like a tired child & weep away this life of care—& my diary shall receive me on its downy pillow.”

Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry dated, 7 December 1925

3:28 pm  91 notes

“Aren’t you one of the nicest and magnanimous of women? … Yes, I am very fond of you.”

Virginia Woolf in a letter to Vita Sackville-West

3:23 pm  9 notes

“… and when I get where you are, I shall find stars. But it will be a long time before that happens. I want a fire and an arm chair, silence, and hours of solitude.”

Virginia Woolf, in a letter to Lytton Strachey

3:20 pm  28 notes

“… a review of one of my books by Arnold Bennett appeared in the Evening Standard. It was Orlando, I think. He attacked it violently. He said it was a worthless book, which had dashed every hope he might have had of me as a writer. His whole column was devoted to trouncing me. Now though very vain … my vanity as a writer is purely snobbish. I expose a large surface of skin to the reviewer but very little flesh and blood. That is, I mind good reviews and bad reviews only because I think my friends think I mind them. But as I know that my friends almost instantly forget reviews, whether good or bad, I too forget them in a few hours. My flesh and blood feelings are not touched. The only criticisms of my books that draw blood are those that are unprinted; those that are private.
Thus as twenty four hours had passed since I read the review, I went into the drawing room at Argyll House far more concerned with my appearance as a woman than with my reputation as a writer. Now I saw Sibyl for the first time and I likened her to a bunch of red cherries on a hard black straw hat. She came forward and led me up to Arnold Bennett as a lamb is led to the butcher.
“Here is Mrs Woolf!” she said with a smile. As a hostess she was gloating. She was thinking, now there will be a scene which will redound to the credit of Argyll House. Other people were there—they too seemed expectant; they all smiled. But Arnold Bennett, I felt, was uncomfortable. He was a kind man; he took his own reviews seriously; here he was shaking hands with a woman whom he had ‘slanged’, as he called it, only the evening before.
“I am sorry, Mrs Woolf,” he began, “that I slanged your book last night…”
He stammered. And I blurted out, quite sincerely, “If I choose to publish books, that’s my own look out. I must take the consequences.”
“Right—right”, he stammered. I think he approved. “I didn’t like your book”, he went on. “I thought it a very bad book…” He stammered again.
“You can’t hate my books more than I hate yours, Mr Bennett”, I said. I don’t know if he altogether approved of that; but we sat down together and talked and got on very well indeed. I was pleased to find in some letters of his that have been published that he commended me for bearing him no grudge; he said that we got on finely.”

Virginia Woolf,  Am I a Snob?

3:17 pm  5 notes

“… I have little aptitude for reflection. I require the concrete in everything. It is so only that I lay hands upon the world. A good phrase, however, seems to me to have an independent existence. Yet I think it is likely that the best are made in solitude.”

Virginia Woolf, The Waves

7:59 am  18 notes

“… and I should feel so set up, that I should lose whatever the pain happened to be—I think in my spine—no perhaps in my head—and toss life like a pancake—.”

Virginia Woolf, Selected Letters

7:53 am  8 notes