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“They all dreamt of each other that night, as was natural, considering how thin the partitions were between them, and how strangely they had been lifted off the earth to sit next each other in mid-ocean, and see every detail of each others' faces, and hear whatever they chanced to say.”
― Virginia Woolf, The Voyage Out

“I should never be able to fulfill what is,I understand, the first duty of a lecturer-to hand you after an hour's discourse a nugget of pure truth to wrap up between the pages of your notebooks and keep on the mantelpiece forever".”
― Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own

“Among the tortures and devastations of life is this then—our friends are not able to finish their stories.”
― Virginia Woolf, The Waves

“Are we not acceptable, moon? Are we not lovely sitting together here, I in my satin; he in black and white?”
― Virgina Woolf

“A self that goes on changing is a self that goes on living': so too with the biography of that self. And just as lives don't stay still, so life-writing can't be fixed and finalised. Our ideas are shifting about what can be said, our knowledge of human character is changing. The biographer has to pioneer, going 'ahead of the rest of us, like the miner's canary, testing the atmosphere, detecting falsity, unreality, and the presence of obsolete conventions'. So, 'There are some stories which have to be retold by each generation'. She is talking about the story of Shelley, but she could be talking about her own life-story. (Virginia Woolf, p. 11)”
― Hermione Lee, Virginia Woolf

“Lisbon, to me,
is the Lisbon of Pessoa.
Just like London is Woolf’s,
or rather, Mrs. Dalloway’s.
Barcelona is Gaudí's
and Rome is da Vinci’s.
You see them in every crevice
and hear their echoes
in every cathedral.
I’d like to be the child,
or rather, the mother of a city
but I neither have a home
nor a resting place.
My race is humankind.
My religion is kindness.
My work is love
and, well, my city
is the walls of your heart.”
― Kamand Kojouri

“unless I am myself, I am nobody.”
― Virginia Woolf

“The only advise, indeed, that one person can give another about reading is to take no advice, to follow your own instincts, to use your own reason, to come to your own conclusions. If this is agreed between us, then I fell at liberty to put forward a few ideas and suggestions because you will not allow them to fatter that independence which is the most important quality that a reader can posses.”
― Virginia Woolf, How Should One Read a Book?

“I will pull on my stockings and go quietly past the bedroom doors, and down through the kitchen, out through the garden past the greenhouse into the field. It is still early morning. The mist is on the marshes. The day is stark and stiff as a linen shroud. But it will soften; it will warm. At this hour, this still early hour, I think I am the field, I am the barn, I am the trees; mine are the flocks of birds, and this young hare who leaps, at the last moment when I step almost on him. Mine is the heron that stretches its vast wings lazily; and the cow that creaks as it pushes one foot before another munching; and the wild, swooping swallow; and the faint red in the sky, and the green when the red fades; the silence and the bell; the call of the man fetching cart-horses from the fields - all are mine.”
― Virginia Woolf

“We have been taking into our mouths the bodies of dead birds.”
― Virginia Woolf

“Viața este ceea ce vezi în ochii oamenilor; viața este ceea ce aceștia învață și, învățând, nu încetează niciodată să fie conștienți de asta, deși încearcă s-o ascundă - ce anume?”
― Virginia Woolf, Selected Essays

“The tiger leapt, and the swallow dipped her wings in dark pools on the other side of the world.”
― Woolf Virginia, The Waves

“I reflect now that the earth is only a pebble flicked off accidentally from the face of the sun and that there is no life anywhere in the abysses of space.”
― Virginia Woolf, The Waves

“It rasped her, though, to have stirring about her this brutal monster! to hear twigs cracking and feel hooves planted down in the depths of that leaf-encumbered forest, the soul; never to be content quite, or quite secure, for at any moment the brute would be stirring, this hatred, which, especially since her illness had power to make her feel scraped, hurt in her spine; gave her physical pain, and made all pleasure in beauty, in friendship, in being well, in being loved and making her home a delightful rock, quiver, and bend as if indeed there were a monster grubbing at the roots, as if the whole panoply of content were nothing but self love! this hatred!”
― Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway

“But they beckoned; leaves were alive; trees were alive. And the leaves being connected by millions of fibres with his own body, there on the seat, fanned it up and down; when the branch stretched he , too, made that statement.”
― Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway

“The word 'time' split its husk; poured its riches over him; and from his lips fell like shells, like shavings from a plane, without his making them, hard, white, imperishable, words, and flew to attach themselves to their places in an ode to Time; an immortal ode to Time.”
― Virginia Woolf, MRS . DALLOWAY

“After that, how unbelievable death was! - that it must end; and no one in the whole world would know how she had loved it all; how, every instant . . .”
― Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway

“It ended in a transcendental theory which, with her horror of death, allowed her to believe, or say that she believed (for all her scepticism), that since our apparitions, the part of us which appears, are so momentary compared with the other, the unseen part of us, which spreads wide, the unseen might survive, be recovered somehow attached to this person or that, or even haunting certain places, after death. Perhaps - perhaps.”
― Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway

“And all the lives we ever lived and all the lives to be, are full of trees and changing leaves”
― Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

“Hence, perhaps, the peculiar nature of woman in fiction; the astonishing extremes of her beauty and horror; her alterations between heavenly goodness and hellish depravity—for so a lover would see her as his love rose and sank, was prosperous or unhappy.”
― Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own / Three Guineas

“É sempre uma aventura entrar num espaço desconhecido, porque a vida e a personalidade dos que o ocupam vão infundindo nele as suas características, de tal modo que, assim que entramos, passamos a respirar novas formas de emoção.”
― Virginia Woolf, Street Haunting

“Però sí que temia el pas del temps (��), el minvament de la vida; com any rere any s'anava reduint la part que li corresponia; que poc podia estirar-se ja el marge que li quedava per absorbir, com en els anys de joventut, els colors, els gustos, les tonalitats de l'existència, quan en entrar en una habitació l'omplia i, aturant-se un instant al llindar de la sala, sentia una incertesa exquisida��”
― Virginia Woolf, TO THE LIGHTHOUSE

“Però sí que temia el pas del temps (...), el minvament de la vida; com any rere any s'anava reduint la part que li corresponia; que poc podia estirar-se ja el marge que li quedava per absorbir, com en els anys de joventut, els colors, els gustos, les tonalitats de l'existència, quan en entrar en una habitació l'omplia i, aturant-se un instant al llindar de la sala, sentia una incertesa exquisida...”
― Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway

“Feia vent, i de tant en tant les fulles deixaven a la vista una estrella, i semblava que les estrelles mateixes s'estremissin i projectessin la seva llum per mirar d'esquitllar-se per entre les vores de les fulles.”
― Virginia Woolf, TO THE LIGHTHOUSE

“Though we see the same world, we see it through different eyes. Any help we can give you must be different from that you can give yourselves, and perhaps the value of that help may lie in the fact of that difference.”
― Virginia Woolf, Three Guineas

“Maybe Virginia Woolf thought about going to the lighthouse, but I doubt she ever got there, or the novel might have ended differently.”
― Benjamin Percy, Thrill Me: Essays on Fiction

“Možda pisci poput Dickensa duguju svoju veliku popularnost za života upravo činjenici da je novac u njihovim romanima pokretač svega, s čime se većina čitalaca lako mogla identificirati. S modernizmom je novac nezamjetno nestao iz ����ᾱž�𱹲ԴDz���i. Istina, Virginia Woolf u svome bezbroj puta citiranome eseju "Vlastita soba" tvrdi da se žena ne može baviti pisanjem ukoliko ne posjeduje vlastitu sobu i minimalan dohodak od petsto funti godišnje.”
― Dubravka Ugrešić, Lisica

“Their house was full of books, letters, and mementos.”
― Zena Alkayat, Virginia Woolf: An Illustrated Biography

“Inconsolable, Virginia was consigned to bed for months. She refused to eat and heard birds singing in greek.”
― Zena Alkayat, Virginia Woolf: An Illustrated Biography

“I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness... I don't think two people could have been happier... I can't go on spoiling your life any longer.”
― Zena Alkayat, Jane Austen: An Illustrated Biography