"My head is a hive of words that won't settle.

He is forced to coin words himself, and, taking his pain in one hand, and a lump of pure sound in the other (as perhaps the people of Babel did in the beginning), so to crush them together that a brand new ...
~ Virginia Woolf ~












He is forced to coin words himself, and, taking his pain in one hand, and a lump of pure sound in th...
Show More
More Virginia Woolf quotes
"Fiction is like a spider's web, attached ever so lightly perhaps, but still attached to life at all four corners.
"But language is wine upon his lips
"She liked getting hold of some book... and keeping it to herself, and gnawing its contents in privacy, and pondering the meaning without sharing her t...
"The taste for books was an early one. As a child he was sometimes found at midnight by a page still reading. They took his taper away, and he bred glo...
"The flower bloomed and faded. The sun rose and sank. The lover loved and went. And what the poets said in rhyme, the young translated into practice.
"But Sasha was from Russia, where the sunsets are longer, the dawns less sudden and sentences are often left unfinished from doubt as how to best end t...
"Second-hand books are wild books, homeless books; they have come together in vast flocks of variegated feather, and have a charm which the domesticate...
"Perhaps then one reason why we have no great poet, novelist or critic writing today is that we refuse to allow words their liberty. We pin them down t...
"To admit authorities, however heavily furred and gowned, into our libraries and let them tell us how to read, what to read, what value to place upon w...
"The only advice, 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...
"When I cannot see words curling like rings of smoke round me I am in darkness—I am nothing.
"But for pain words are lacking. There should be cries, cracks, fissures, whiteness passing over chintz covers, interference with the sense of time, of...
"I begin to long for some little language such as lovers use, broken words, inarticulate words, like the shuffling of feet on pavement.
"Now begins to rise in me the familiar rhythm; words that have lain dormant now lift, now toss their crests, and fall and rise, and falls again. I am a...