Virginia Woolf

A Writer's Diary (1918 - 1941) - Complete edition

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  • Said Sadikhovhas quoted8 years ago
    I enjoy almost everything. Yet I have some restless searcher in me. Why is there not a discovery in life? Something one can lay hands on and say ‘This is it’? My depression is a harassed feeling. I’m looking: but that’s not it—that’s not it. What is it? And shall I die before I find it? Then (as I was walking through Russell Square last night) I see the mountains in the sky: the great clouds; and the moon which is risen over Persia; I have a great and astonishing sense of something there, which is ‘it’. It is not exactly beauty that I mean. It is that the thing is in itself enough: satisfactory; achieved. A sense of my own strangeness, walking on the earth is there too: of the infinite oddity of the human position; trotting along Russell Square with the moon up there and those mountain clouds. Who am I, what am I, and so on: these questions are always floating about in me: and then I bump against some exact fact—a letter, a person, and come to them again with a great sense of freshness. And so it goes on. But on this showing, which is true, I think, I do fairly frequently come upon this ‘it’; and then feel quite at rest.
  • iFERhas quoted4 months ago
    The truth is that I have an internal, automatic scale of values; which decides what I had better do with my time.
  • LiterariaLetterhas quoted5 months ago
    Anyhow I was very glad to go on with my Byron. He has at least the male virtues. In fact, Im amused to find how easily I can imagine the effect he had upon women - especially upon rather stupid or uneducated women, unable to stand up to him.
  • LiterariaLetterhas quoted5 months ago
    content with superficial smartness; and the whole conception is poor, cheap, not the vision, however imperfect, of an interesting mind. She writes badly too. And the effect was as I say, to give me an impression of her callousness and hardness as a human being. I shall read it again; but I dont suppose I shall change.
  • LiterariaLetterhas quoted5 months ago
    and Katherine Mansfield on Bliss. I threw down Bliss with the exclamation, Shes done for! Indeed I dont see how much faith in her as woman or writer can survive that sort of story. I shall have to accept the fact, Im afraid, that her mind is a very thin soil, laid an inch or two deep upon very barren rock. For Bliss is long enough to give her a chance of going deeper.
  • LiterariaLetterhas quoted6 months ago
    I confess though that I have only turned her poetry over, making my way inevitably to the ones I knew already.
  • LiterariaLetterhas quoted6 months ago
    She wrote very easily; in a spontaneous childlike kind of way one imagines, as is the case generally with a true gift; still undeveloped. She has the natural singing power. She thinks too. She has fancy. She could, one is profane enough to guess, have been ribald and witty.
  • LiterariaLetterhas quoted6 months ago
    Poetry was castrated too. She would set herself to do the psalms into verse; and to make all her poetry subservient to the Christian doctrines.
  • LiterariaLetterhas quoted6 months ago
    Monday, August 5th.

    While waiting to buy a book in which to record my impressions first of Christina Rossetti, then of Byron, I had better write them here. For one thing I have hardly any money left, having bought Leconte de Lisle in great quantities. Christina has the great distinction of being a born poet, as she seems to have known very well herself. But if I were bringing a case against God she is one of the first witnesses I should call. It is melancholy reading. First she starved herself of love, which I meant also life; then of poetry in deference to what she thought her religion demanded. There were two good suitors. The first indeed had his peculiarities. He had a conscience. She could only marry a particular shade of Christian.
  • pp515has quoted3 years ago
    nk even externality is good; some combination of them ought to be possible. The idea has come to me that what I want now to do is to saturate every atom. I mean to eliminate all waste, deadness, superfluity: to gi
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