25 Mayo
How could she help being “like that” to look at? No one could accuse her of taking pains to impress. And she would, if she had the chance, have liked to take people by the scruff of their necks and make them see.
Virginia Woolf, To The Lighthouse. (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
10 Mayo
It was as if another space of time had been issued to her, but, robbed by the presence of death of something personal, she felt — she hesitated for a word; “immune?” Was that what she meant? Immune, she said, looking at a picture without seeing it. Immune, she repeated.
Virginia Woolf, The Years. (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
09 Mayo
I am empty headed tonight and feeling all the prelude of spring - the vague discomfort and melancholy and a feeling of having come to anchor.
Virginia Woolf, Diary Entry, 28 February, 1927. (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
08 Mayo
Love, the poet has said, is woman’s whole existence. A violent tumult of emotion besieged her at realising it.
Virginia Woolf,Orlando. (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
01 Abr
The melancholy river bears us on. When the moon comes through the trailing willow boughs, I see your face, I hear your voice and the bird singing as we pass the osier bed. What are you whispering? Sorrow, sorrow. Joy, joy. Woven together, like reeds in moonlight.
Virginia Woolf, from “The String Quartet” (via seabois)
05 Feb
Words rose above the intolerably laden, dumb oxen plodding through the mud. Words without meaning, wonderful words.
Virginia Woolf, Between The Acts. (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
28 Ene
She had some queer power of fiddling on one’s nerves, turning one’s nerves to fiddle-strings, yes.
Virginia Woolf, Mrs Dalloway. (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
21 Ene
As usual she seemed to reserve something which she did not say, and he was conscious that they disagreed, and, without saying it aloud, were arguing against each other. But she was too hurried and pre-occupied to talk.
Virginia Woolf, The Voyage Out. (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
11 Nov
She sat perfectly still, listening and looking always at the same spot. It became stranger and stranger. She was overcome with awe that things should exist at all ; she forgot that she had any fingers to raise. The things that existed were so immense and so desolate. She continued to be conscious of these vast masses of substance for a long stretch of time, the clock still ticking in the midst of the universal silence.
Virginia Woolf,The Voyage Out. (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
03 Nov
One’s mind begins tossing up a question or two, idly, vainly, about this same life. Life, it sings, or croons rather, like a kettle on a hob. Life, life, what art thou? Light or darkness, the baize apron of the under-footman or the shadow of the starling on the grass?
Virginia Woolf,Orlando. (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
