virginiawoolffuckyeah

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In the spring her desire for expression invariably increased. She was haunted by the ghosts of phrases. She gave herself up to a sensual delight in the combinations of words. She sought them in the pages of her favorite authors. She made them for herself on scraps of paper, and rolled them on her tongue when there seemed no occasion for such eloquence…

Virginia Woolf, from Night & Day (via watchoutforintellect)

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She stood there: she listened. She heard the names of the stars.

Virginia Woolf, from The Complete Works; “Mrs Dalloway,” c. 1925 (via violentwavesofemotion)

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The absolutely stunning Vintage Classics Woolf series (Cover arts by Aino-Maija Metsola) 

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It is the finest spring ever known—soft, hot, blue, misty.

Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry written c. March 1928 (via violentwavesofemotion)

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…the most ordinary conversation is often the most poetic, and the most poetic is precisely that which cannot be written down.

Virginia Woolf, from Orlando: A Biography (via woolfdaily)

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1950s paperback editions of Virginia Woolf

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She was born to be adored of poets.

Virginia Woolf, The Waves (via liquidlightandrunningtrees)

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With stars in her eyes and veils in her hair, with cyclamen and wild violets —

Virginia Woolf, from To the Lighthouse (via luthienne)

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I will cut adrift—I will sit on pavements and drink coffee—I will dream; I will take my mind out of its iron cage and let it swim—this fine October.

Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry c. October 1927 featured in “Diaries,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

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I wonder if you talked about me, as you went home, or thought of me when the moon rose,

Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Vanessa Bell written c. August 1908 (via violentwavesofemotion)

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I want to raise up the magic world all round me and live strongly and quietly there.

Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry written c. February 1934 (via violentwavesofemotion)

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This morning I am wonderfully peaceful. Just like a storm that has spent itself.

Virginia Woolf, The Complete Works of Virginia Woolf; Selected Diaries

Read more at wordsnquotes

(via wnq-quotes)

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Nothing is simply one thing.

To The Lighthouse, Virginia Woolf

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Why, if one wants to compare life to anything, one must liken it to being blown through the Tube at fifty miles an hour-- landing at the other side without a single hair pin in one's hair! Shot out at the feet of God entirely naked! Tumbling head over heels in the ashpodel meadows like brown paper parcels pitched down a shoot in the post office! With one's hair flying back like the tail of a race horse.

“The Mark on the Wall”, Virginia Woolf

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Virginia Woolf’s photo album. (Digitised by Harvard.)

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Virginia Woolf, sitting on a beach in Greece, circa 1932 (x)