Virginia Woolf Quotes About Lying

Quotes about: Lying

• If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people.

  Virginia Woolf

  Inspirational, Honesty, Lying

  Virginia Woolf (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Virginia Woolf (Illustrated)”, p.3151, Delphi Classics

• But why do I notice everything? She thought. Why must I think? She did not want to think. She wanted to force her mind to become a blank and lie back, and accept quietly, tolerantly, whatever came.

  Virginia Woolf

  Life, Lying, Thinking

  Virginia Woolf (2016). “The Years - Including a Short Biography of the Author”, p.282, Read Books Ltd

• Like" and "like" and "like"--but what is the thing that lies beneath the semblance of the thing?

  Virginia Woolf

  Lying, Semblance

  Virginia Woolf (2016). “The Waves”, p.119, Virginia Woolf

• We are about to part," said Neville. "Here are the boxes; here are the cabs. There is Percival in his billycock hat. He will forget me. He will leave my letters lying about among guns and dogs unaswered. I shall send him poems and he will perhaps reply with a picture post card. But it is for that that I love him. I shall propose a meeting - under a clock, by some Cross; and shall wait and he will not come. It is for that that I love him.

  Virginia Woolf

  Dog, Lying, I Love Him

  Virginia Woolf (2007). “Selected Works of Virginia Woolf”, p.665, Wordsworth Editions

• I am to be broken. I am to be derided all my life. I am to be cast up and down among these men and women, with their twitching faces, with their lying tongues, like a cork on a rough sea. Like a ribbon of weed I am flung far every time the door opens.

  Virginia Woolf

  Weed, Women, Lying

  Virginia Woolf (2005). “Selected Works of Virginia Woolf”, p.687, Wordsworth Editions

• The interest in life does not lie in what people do, nor even in their relations to each other, but largely in the power to communicate with a third party, antagonistic, enigmatic, yet perhaps persuadable, which one may call life in general.

  Virginia Woolf

  Life, Lying, Party

  1925 The Common Reader, 'On Not Knowing Greek'.

• He looked very old. He looked, James thought, getting his head now against the Lighthouse, now against the waste of waters running away into the open, like some old stone lying on the sand; he looked as if he had become physically what was always at the back of both of their minds-that loneliness which was for both of them the truth about things.

  Virginia Woolf

  Running, Loneliness, Lying

  Virginia Woolf (2007). “Selected Works of Virginia Woolf”, p.387, Wordsworth Editions

• I need a little language such as lovers use, words of one syllable such as children speak when they come into the room and find their mother sewing and pick up some scrap of bright wool, a feather, or a shred of chintz. I need a howl; a cry. When the storm crosses the marsh and sweeps over me where I lie in the ditch unregarded I need no words. Nothing neat. Nothing that comes down with all its feet on the floor. None of those resonances and lovely echoes that break and chime from nerve to nerve in our breasts making wild music, false phrases. I have done with phrases.

  Virginia Woolf

  Mother, Children, Lying

  Virginia Woolf (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Virginia Woolf (Illustrated)”, p.1452, Delphi Classics

• Her life was a tissue of vanity and deceit.

  Virginia Woolf

  Lying, Vanity, Deceit

  Virginia Woolf (2012). “Mrs. Dalloway - Broadview Edition”, p.148, Broadview Press

• A thing there was that mattered; a thing, wreathed about with chatter, defaced, obscured in her own life, let drop every day in corruption, lies, chatter. This he had preserved. Death was defiance. Death was an attempt to communicate; people feeling the impossibility of reaching the centre which, mystically, evaded them; closeness drew apart; rapture faded, one was alone. There was an embrace in death.

  Virginia Woolf

  Lying, People, Feelings

  Virginia Woolf (2012). “Mrs. Dalloway - Broadview Edition”, p.184, Broadview Press

• We are cut, we are fallen. We are become part of that unfeeling universe that sleeps when we are at our quickest and burns red when we lie asleep.

  Virginia Woolf

  Lying, Sleep, Cutting

  Virginia Woolf (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Virginia Woolf (Illustrated)”, p.1444, Delphi Classics

• Some collaboration has to take place in the mind between the woman and the man before the art of creation can be accomplished. Some marriage of opposites has to be consummated. The whole of the mind must lie wide open if we are to get the sense that the

  Virginia Woolf

  Art, Lying, Creativity

  Virginia Woolf (2007). “Selected Works of Virginia Woolf”, p.627, Wordsworth Editions

• Doesn't one always think of the past, in a garden with men and women lying under the trees? Aren't they one's past, all that remains of it, those men and women, those ghosts lying under the trees ... one's happiness, one's reality?

  Virginia Woolf

  Lying, Past, Reality

  Virginia Woolf (2015). “Monday or Tuesday”, p.47, Virginia Woolf

• Though we see the same world, we see it through different eyes. Any help we can give you must be different from that you can give yourselves, and perhaps the value of that help may lie in the fact of that difference.

  Virginia Woolf

  Lying, Eye, Differences

  Virginia Woolf (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Virginia Woolf (Illustrated)”, p.2751, Delphi Classics

• Lies will flow from my lips, but there may perhaps be some truth mixed up with them.

  Virginia Woolf

  Lying, May, Flow

  Virginia Woolf (2015). “A Room of One's Own (Annotated)”, p.4, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

• I was lying in bed this morning and saying to myself, 'the remarkable thing about Ethel is her stupendous self-satisfaction' when in came your letter to confirm this profound psychological observation. How delighted I was!

  Virginia Woolf

  Morning, Lying, Self

  Virginia Woolf (1975). “The Letters of Virginia Woolf: 1932-1935”

• I am obsessed at nights with the idea of my own worthlessness, and if it were only to turn a light on to save my life I think I would not do it. These are the last footprints of a headache I suppose. Do you ever feel that? - like an old weed in a stream. What do you feel, lying in bed?

  Virginia Woolf

  Weed, Lying, Night

  Virginia Woolf (1975). “The Letters of Virginia Woolf: 1929-1931”

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