English author Adeline Virginia Woolf wrote modernist classics including ‘Mrs. Dalloway’ and ‘To the Lighthouse,’ as well as pioneering feminist texts, ‘A Room of One’s Own’ and ‘Three Guineas.’
She is considered one of the most important modernist 20th-century authors and also a pioneer in the use of stream of consciousness as a literary technique. Famous Virginia Woolf quotes will inspire you to discover your true-self and to open yourself to infinite possibility for the joy, peace and success you can experience.
If you’re searching for best sayings from authors that perfectly capture what you’d like to say or just want to feel inspired yourself, browse through an amazing collection of timeless Jane Austen quotes, F. Scott Fitzgerald quotes, and top Maya Angelou quotes.
Famous Virginia Woolf Quotes
I thought how unpleasant it is to be locked out; and I thought hot it is worse, perhaps, to be locked in.
I am rooted but I flow.
What does the brain matter compared with the heart?
Fiction is like a spider’s web, attached ever so lightly perhaps, but still attached to life at all four corners.
For now she need not think of anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of—to think; well not even to think. To be silent; to be alone. 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… and this self, having shed its attachments was free for the strangest adventures.
Just in case you ever foolishly forget; I’m never not thinking of you.
I have a deeply hidden and inarticulate desire for something beyond the daily life.
I am in the mood to dissolve in the sky.
I meant to write about death, only life came breaking in as usual.
When you consider things like the stars, our affairs don’t seem to matter very much, do they?
Writing is like sex. First you do it for love, then you do it for your friends, and then you do it for money.
How much better is silence; the coffee cup, the table. How much better to sit by myself like the solitary sea-bird that opens its wings on the stake. Let me sit here for ever with bare things, this coffee cup, this knife, this fork, things in themselves, myself being myself.
I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realizes an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thus we don’t have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.
A woman knows very well that, though a wit sends her his poems, praises her judgement, solicits her criticism, and drinks her tea, this by no means signifies that he respects her opinions, admires her understanding, or will refuse though the rapier is denied him, to run through the body with his pen.
Why are women… so much more interesting to men than men are to women?
As long as she thinks of a man, nobody objects to a woman thinking.
Growing up is losing some illusions, in order to acquire others.
Love, the poet said, is woman’s whole existence.
There was a star riding through clouds one night, and I said to the star, ‘consume me.’
Literature is strewn with the wreckage of those who have minded beyond reason the opinion of others.
Was not writing poetry a secret transaction, a voice answering a voice?
As long as you write what you wish to write, that is all that matters; and whether it matters for ages or only for hours, nobody can say.
Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.
For books continue each other, in spite of our habit of judging them separately.
I really don’t advise a woman who wants to have things her own way to get married.
Inspirational Virginia Woolf Quotes
No need to hurry. No need to sparkle. No need to be anybody but oneself.
I am reading six books at once, the only way of reading; since, as you will agree, one book is only a single unaccompanied note, and to get the full sound, one needs ten others at the same time.
I have lost friends, some by death… others by sheer inability to cross the street.
I worship you but I loathe marriage. I hate its smugness, its safety, its compromise and the thought of you interfering with my work, hindering me; what would you answer?
For it would seem—her case proved it—that we write, not with the fingers but with the whole person. The nerve which controls the pen winds itself about every fiber of our being, threads the heart, pierces the liver.
When I cannot see words curling like rings of smoke round me I am in darkness—I am nothing.
Books are the mirrors of the soul.
Second hand books are wild books, homeless books; they have come together in vast flocks of variegated feather, and have a charm which the domesticated volumes of the library lack.
Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.
A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.
I see you everywhere, in the stars, in the river, to me you’re everything that exists; the reality of everything.
Friendships, even the best of them, are frail things. One drifts apart.
Nothing thicker than a knife’s blade separates happiness from melancholy.
To love makes one solitary.
If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people.
It may be possible that the world itself is without meaning.
Anything can happen when womanhood has ceased to be a protected occupation.
The eyes of others our prisons; their thoughts our cages.
One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.
As a woman I have no country. As a woman I want no country. As a woman, my country is the whole world.
The truth is, I often like women. I like their unconventionality. I like their completeness. I like their anonymity.
What is the meaning of life? That was all—a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years, the great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one.
To look life in the face, always, to look life in the face, and to know it for what it is… at last, to love it for what it is, and then, to put it away…
They went in and out of each other’s minds without any effort.
Women have served all these centuries as looking glasses possessing the magic and delicious power of reflecting the figure of man at twice its natural size.
The history of men’s opposition to women’s emancipation is more interesting perhaps than the story of that emancipation itself.
And the poem, I think, is only your voice speaking.