I do not believe that gifts, whether of mind or character, can be weighed like sugar and butter
And in me too the wave rises. It swells; it arches its back. I am aware once more of a new desire, something rising beneath me like the proud horse whose rider first spurs and then pulls him back. Wha...
Arrange whatever pieces come your way.
What is nobler, she mused, turning over the photographs, than to be a woman to whom every one turns, in sorrow or difficulty?
All this pitting of sex against sex, of quality against quality; all this claiming of superiority and imputing of inferiority, belong to the private-school stage of human existence where there are 'si...
All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others.
Growing up is losing some illusions, in order to acquire others.
Women are supposed to be very calm generally: but women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties and a field for their efforts as much as their brothers do; they suffer from too r...
They say that one must beat one's wings against the storm in the belief that beyond this welter the sun shines
The most important thing is not to think very much about oneself. To investigate candidly the charge; but not fussily, not very anxiously. On no account to retaliate by going to the other extreme -- t...
I have lost friends some by death ... others by sheer inability to cross the street.
Shakespeare is getting flyblown; a paternal government might well forbid writing about him, as they put his monument at Stratford beyond the reach of scribbling fingers. With all this buzz of criticis...
Pale, with dark hair, the one who is coming is melancholy, romantic. And I am arch and fluent and capricious; for he is melancholy, he is romantic. He is here.
To want and not to have, sent all up her body a hardness, a hollowness, a strain. And then to want and not to have- to want and want- how that wrung the heart, and wrung it again and again!
The very stone one kicks with one's boot will outlast Shakespeare.
Love, the poet said, is woman's whole existence.
I burn, I shiver, out of this sun, into this shadow.
Every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works.
Still, life had a way of adding day to day
Mrs Dalloway is always giving parties to cover the silence