Virginia Woolf Quotes About Wall

Quotes about: Wall

• With my cheek leant upon the window pane I like to fancy that I am pressing as closely as can be upon the massy wall of time, which is forever lifting and pulling and letting fresh spaces of life in upon us. May it be mine to taste the moment before it has spread itself over the rest of the world! Let me taste the newest and the freshest.

  Virginia Woolf

  Wall, Window Panes, Space

  Virginia Woolf (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Virginia Woolf (Illustrated)”, p.1969, Delphi Classics

• Women have sat indoors all these millions of years, so that by this time the very walls are permeated by their creative force, which has, indeed, so overcharged the capacity of bricks and mortar that it must needs harness itself to pens and brushes and business and politics.

  Virginia Woolf

  Wall, Years, Bricks And Mortar

  Virginia Woolf (2005). “Selected Works of Virginia Woolf”, p.617, Wordsworth Editions

• She felt, with her hand on the nursery door, that community of feeling with other people which emotion gives as if the walls of partition had become so thin that practically (the feeling was one of relief and happiness) it was all one stream.

  Virginia Woolf

  Wall, Doors, Hands

  Virginia Woolf (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Virginia Woolf (Illustrated)”, p.1066, Delphi Classics

• Yet there are moments when the walls of the mind grow thin; when nothing is unabsorbed, and I could fancy that we might blow so vast a bubble that the sun might set and rise in it and we might take the blue of midday and the black of midnight and be cast off and escape from here and now.

  Virginia Woolf

  Wall, Blow, Blue

  Virginia Woolf (2016). “The Waves”, p.165, Virginia Woolf

• The light struck upon the trees in the garden, making one leaf transparent and then another. One bird chirped high up; there was a pause; another chirped lower down. The sun sharpended the walls of the house, and rested like the tip of a fan upon a white blind and made a fingerprint of a shadow under the leaf by the bedroom window. The blind stirred slightly, but all within was dim and unsubstantial. The birds sang their blank melody outside.

  Virginia Woolf

  Wall, Garden, Light

• She had read a wonderful play about a man who scratched on the wall of his cell and she had felt that was true of life — one scratched on the wall.

  Virginia Woolf

  Wall, Men, Cells

  Virginia Woolf (2012). “Mrs. Dalloway - Broadview Edition”, p.192, Broadview Press

• Wind and storm colored July. Also, in the middle, cadaverous, awful, lay the grey puddle in the courtyard, when holding an envelope in my hand, I carried a message. I came to the puddle. I could not cross it. Identity failed me. We are nothing, I said, and fell. I was blown like a feather. I was wafted down tunnels. Then very gingerly, I pushed my foot across. I laid my hand against a brick wall. I returned very painfully, drawing myself back into my body over the grey, cadaverous space of the puddle. This is life then to which I am committed.

  Virginia Woolf

  Wall, Tunnels, July

• The cold stream of visual impressions failed him now as if the eye were a cup that overflowed and let the rest run down its china walls unrecorded.

  Virginia Woolf

  Running, Wall, Eye

  Virginia Woolf (1996). “Mrs Dalloway”, p.119, Wordsworth Editions

• I'm fundamentally, I think, an outsider. I do my best work and feel most braced with my back to the wall. It's an odd feeling though, writing aginst the current: difficult entirely to disregard the current. Yet of course I shall.

  Virginia Woolf

  Wall, Writing, Thinking

  Virginia Woolf (2013). “Delphi Complete Works of Virginia Woolf (Illustrated)”, p.4517, Delphi Classics

• Writing is still like heaving bricks over a wall.

  Virginia Woolf

  Wall, Writing, Bricks

  Virginia Woolf (1976). “The question of things happening”, Vintage

• Anecdote: A house that is rooted to one spot but can travel as quickly as you change your mind and is complete in itself is surely the most desirable of houses. Our modern house with its cumbersome walls and its foundations planted deep in the ground is nothing better than a prison and more and more prison like does it become the longer we live there, and wear fetters of a association and sentiment.

  Virginia Woolf

  Wall, House, Mind

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