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
Yet it is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top. – 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
Its not catastrophes, murders, deaths, diseases, that age and kill us its the way people look and laugh, and run up the steps of omnibuses. – Virginia Woolf