Let a man get up and say, Behold, this is the truth, and instantly I perceive a sandy cat filching a piece of fish in the background. Look, you have forgotten the cat, I say. – Virginia Woolf
The mind is the most capricious of insects — flitting, fluttering. – Virginia Woolf
Each has his past shut in him like the leaves of a book shown to him by heart, and his friends can only read the title. – Virginia Woolf
It is the nature of the artist to mind excessively what is said about him. Literature is strewn with the wreckage of men who have minded beyond reason the opinions of others. – Virginia Woolf