Virginia Woolf idézet

oldal 5

„Van egy mélyen rejtett és artikulálatlan vágyam valami iránt, ami túlmutat a mindennapi életen.”

„Az élet nehéz; a tények megalkuvást nem tűrőek; és az átkelés abba a mesebeli országba, ahol a legfényesebb reményeink kialszanak, törékeny bárkáink sötétségbe vesznek, olyan, amelyhez mindenekelőtt bátorságra, igazságra és a kitartás erejére van szükség.”

„Van az a különös képességünk, hogy a képzelet erejével megváltoztathatjuk a tényeket.”

„Ha nem vagyok önmagam, senki sem vagyok.”

„A halálról akartam írni, de az élet közbeszólt, mint mindig.”

„Nem kell sietni. Nem kell ragyogni. Nem kell másnak lenni, csak önmagunknak.”

„És költő szeretnél lenni; és szerető szeretnél lenni.”

“Was not writing poetry a secret transaction, a voice answering a voice?”

“Friendships, even the best of them, are frail things. One drifts apart.”

“Beauty was not everything. Beauty had this penalty — it came too readily, came too completely. It stilled life — froze it.”

“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.”

“… she always had the feeling that it was very, very dangerous to live even one day.”

“… who shall measure the heat and violence of a poet's heart when caught and tangled in a woman's body?”

“I need not hate any man; he cannot hurt me. I need not flatter any man; he has nothing to give me.”

“For books continue each other, in spite of our habit of judging them separately.”

“I was always going to the bookcase for another sip of the divine specific.”

“It was a silly, silly dream, being unhappy.”

“The world wavered and quivered and threatened to burst into flames.”

“It is no use trying to sum people up.”

“Better was it to go unknown and leave behind you an arch, a potting shed, a wall where peaches ripen, than to burn like meteor and leave no dust.”

“When the body escaped mutilation, seldom did the heart go to the grave unscarred.”

“No passion is stronger in the breast of man than the desire to make others believe as he believes. Nothing so cuts at the root of his happiness and fills him with rage as the sense that another rates low what he prizes high.”

“So fine was the morning except for a streak of wind here and there that the sea and sky looked all one fabric, as if sails were stuck high up in the sky, or the clouds had dropped down into the sea.”

“My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery - always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then buried in mud. And why? What's this passion for?”

“But nothing is so strange when one is in love (and what was this except being in love?) as the complete indifference of other people.”

“Peter would think her sentimental. So she was. For she had come to feel that it was the only thing worth saying – what one felt. Cleverness was silly. One must say simply what one felt.”

“The most extraordinary thing about writing is that when you've struck the right vein, tiredness goes. It must be an effort, thinking wrong.”

“What is this terror? what is this ecstasy? he thought to himself. What is it that fills me with this extraordinary excitement?
It is Clarissa, he said.
For there she was.”

“By the truth we are undone. Life is a dream. 'Tis the waking that kills us. He who robs us of our dreams robs us of our life.”

“Rigid, the skeleton of habit alone upholds the human frame.”

“I enjoy the spring more than the autumn now. One does, I think, as one gets older.”

“Illusions are to the soul what atmosphere is to the earth.”

“Never pretend that the things you haven't got are not worth having.”

“Why, if it was an illusion, not praise the catastrophe, whatever it was, that destroyed illusion and put truth in it's place?”

“He called her a melon, a pineapple, an olive tree, an emerald, and a fox in the snow all in the space of three seconds; he did not know whether he had heard her, tasted her, seen her, or all three together.”

“Moments like this are buds on the tree of life. Flowers of darkness they are.”