A Writer's Ruminations

#virginia woolf

Virginia Woolf and family, after the death of Julia Stephen

Virginia Woolf and family, after the death of Julia Stephen

violentwavesofemotion:

Virginia Woolf photographed by George Charles Beresford in 1902 

"As a teenager, Woolf became so terrified of people that she blushed when someone spoke to her and was incapable of looking strangers in the eye. . One of the things Woolf disliked most in life was being peered at or having someone take her photograph.” (x)

I meant to write about death, only life came breaking in as usual. I like, I see, to question people about death. I have taken it into my head that I shan’t live until 70. Suppose, I said to myself the other day this pain over my heart suddenly wrung me out like a dish cloth & left me dead?-I was feeling sleepy, indifferent, & calm; & so thought it didn’t much matter, except for L. Then, some bird or light I daresay, or waking wider, set me off wishing to live on my own-wishing chiefly to walk along the river & look at things.

– Virginia Woolf in her diary, Friday 17 1922 (via vwvw)

“Her life – that was the only chance she had – the short season between two silences.”

– Virginia Woolf, The Voyage Out  (via vwvw)

“She did not wish to remember; it troubled her when people tried to disturb her loneliness; she wished to be alone. She wished for nothing else in the world.”

– Virginia Woolf, The Voyage Out (via flowerville)

“I am interested in impossible embodiments. I wish to write; I wish to write about certain things that cannot be held. I want to create a sea of freely-flowing words of no definite form and shape waves of fluent exactness.”

– Virginia Woolf, Passionate Apprentice: The Early Journals, 1897-1909 (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)

“Her mind was like a wound exposed to dry in the air.”

– Virginia Woolf, The Voyage Out (via birdonwing)

Happy Birthday Virginia Woolf (25 January 1882 - 28 March 1941)

Happy Birthday Virginia Woolf (25 January 1882 - 28 March 1941)

“Is it not possible—I often wonder—that things we have felt with great intensity have an existence independent of our minds; are in fact still in existence? And if so, will it not be possible, in time, that some device will be invented by which we can tap them? I see it—the past—as an avenue lying behind; a long ribbon of scenes, emotions. There at the end of the avenue still, are the garden and the nursery. Instead of remembering here a scene and there a sound, I shall fit a plug into the wall; and listen in to the past. I feel that strong emotion must leave its trace; and it is only a question of discovering how we can get ourselves again attached to it, so that we shall be able to live our lives through from the start.”

– Virginia Woolf, Selected Diaries (via violentwavesofemotion)