Death is woven in with the violets,” said Louis. “Death and again death.– Virginia Woolf -The Waves
What if I told you I’m incapable of tolerating my own heart?– Virginia Woolf, Night And Day (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
For this moment, this one moment, we are together. I press you to me. Come, pain, feed on me. Bury your fangs in my flesh. Tear me asunder. I sob, I sob.– Virginia Woolf, The Waves
Virginia Woolf’s suicide letter, read by Nicole Kidman in the opening scene of “The Hours”.
I desired always to stretch the night and fill it fuller and fuller with dreams.– Virginia Woolf, The Waves (via violentwavesofemotion)
I am now fallen; stardust envelops me.– Virginia Woolf, The Waves (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)
I am made and remade continually. Different people draw different words from me.– Virginia Woolf, The Waves (via larmoyante)
There is nothing staid, nothing settled, in this universe. All is rippling, all is dancing; all is quickness and triumph.– Virginia Woolf, The Waves (via chambres)
From The 50 Greatest Love Letters of All Time, edited by David H, Lowenherz
Beautiful-I would adore for someone to love me like this, to write to me like this.
I have reblogged these words more than once. I have said this before, and I will say it again—I want a love like Virginia and Vita. I would do anything to have someone care for me like that.
The flower bloomed and faded. The sun rose and sank. The lover loved and went.– Orlando, Virginia Woolf (via fromliterature)
Virginia Woolf, from her suicide note to her husband Leonard Woolf.
Virginia Woolf,The Waves.
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.– Mrs. Dalloway, Virginia Woolf (via dialogues)
She had the perpetual sense, as she watched the taxicabs, of being out, out, far out to sea and alone; she always had the feeling that it was very, very dangerous to live even one day.– Virginia Woolf, Mrs Dalloway (via liquidnight)
The melancholy river bears us on. When the moon comes through the trailing willow boughs, I see your face, I hear your voice and the bird singing as we pass the osier bed. What are you whispering? Sorrow, sorrow. Joy, joy. Woven together, like reeds in moonlight.– Virginia Woolf, from “The String Quartet” (via proustitute)