Virginia Woolf

Distorted realities have always been my cup of tea.

Life is a dream. 'Tis waking that kills us. He who robs us of our dreams robs us of our life.

I need silence, and to be alone and to go out, and to save one hour to consider what has happened to my world, what death has done to my world.

Truth had run through my fingers. Every drop had escaped.

I leap like one of those flames that run between the cracks of the earth; I move, I dance; I never cease to move and to dance.

No one feels — no one does anything but hurt.

I grow numb; I grow stiff. How shall I break up this numbness which discredits my sympathetic heart?

Do not move, do not go. Sink within this moment. Hold it for ever.

Who is that lady who appears to come into a room as if the whole world belonged to her?

Thinking was torment; why not give up thinking, and drift and dream?

Now, therefore, she could write, and write she did. She wrote. She wrote. She wrote.

Words are dangerous things, let us remember. A republic might be brought into being by a poem.

You’re infinitely simpler than I am. That’s the difficulty.

I’ve lived almost entirely among delusions, and now I’m at the awkward stage of finding it out. I want another delusion to go on with.

There was a star riding through clouds one night, and I said to the star, 'Consume me.'

I keep my phrases hung like clothes in a cupboard, waiting for some one to wear them.

You represent to me the only reality in the world.

Be truthful, one would say, and the result is bound to be amazingly interesting.

I am never stagnant; I rise from my worst disasters, I turn, I change.

I would go with you through the fires of death. Yet am happiest alone.

I get an infinity of pleasure from the intensity of my own emotions.