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


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)