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Danh ngôn của Virginia Woolf (Sứ mệnh: 7)

One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.
Women have served all these centuries as looking glasses possessing the power of reflecting the figure of man at twice its natural size.
The beauty of the world, which is so soon to perish, has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder.
The beautiful seems right by force of beauty, and the feeble wrong because of weakness.
The man who is aware of himself is henceforward independent; and he is never bored, and life is only too short, and he is steeped through and through with a profound yet temperate happiness.
I read the book of Job last night, I don't think God comes out well in it.
If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people.
Literature is strewn with the wreckage of men who have minded beyond reason the opinions of others.
Humor is the first of the gifts to perish in a foreign tongue.
Masterpieces are not single and solitary births; they are the outcome of many years of thinking in common, of thinking by the body of the people, so that the experience of the mass is behind the single voice.
That great Cathedral space which was childhood.
When the shriveled skin of the ordinary is stuffed out with meaning, it satisfies the senses amazingly.
Yet it is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top.
Great bodies of people are never responsible for what they do.
The history of men's opposition to women's emancipation is more interesting perhaps than the story of that emancipation itself.
Some people go to priests; others to poetry; I to my friends.
Rigid, the skeleton of habit alone upholds the human frame.
Really I don't like human nature unless all candied over with art.
Life is not a series of gig lamps symmetrically arranged; life is a luminous halo, a semi-transparent envelope surrounding us from the beginning of consciousness to the end.
Why are women... so much more interesting to men than men are to women?
We can best help you to prevent war not by repeating your words and following your methods but by finding new words and creating new methods.
To enjoy freedom we have to control ourselves.
It's not catastrophes, murders, deaths, diseases, that age and kill us; it's the way people look and laugh, and run up the steps of omnibuses.
This soul, or life within us, by no means agrees with the life outside us. If one has the courage to ask her what she thinks, she is always saying the very opposite to what other people say.
Mental fight means thinking against the current, not with it. It is our business to puncture gas bags and discover the seeds of truth.
The connection between dress and war is not far to seek; your finest clothes are those you wear as soldiers.
The truth is, I often like women. I like their unconventionality. I like their completeness. I like their anonymity.
This is an important book, the critic assumes, because it deals with war. This is an insignificant book because it deals with the feelings of women in a drawing-room.
If we help an educated man's daughter to go to Cambridge are we not forcing her to think not about education but about war? - not how she can learn, but how she can fight in order that she might win the same advantages as her brothers?
There can be no two opinions as to what a highbrow is. He is the man or woman of thoroughbred intelligence who rides his mind at a gallop across country in pursuit of an idea.
Every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works.
For most of history, Anonymous was a woman.
You cannot find peace by avoiding life.
Odd how the creative power at once brings the whole universe to order.
Someone has to die in order that the rest of us should value life more.
It is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top.
The telephone, which interrupts the most serious conversations and cuts short the most weighty observations, has a romance of its own.
It seems as if an age of genius must be succeeded by an age of endeavour; riot and extravagance by cleanliness and hard work.
Yet, it is true, poetry is delicious; the best prose is that which is most full of poetry.
I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realises an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thus we don't have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.