It is far harder to kill a phantom than a reality.
I will dream today; for I must unscrew my head somehow.
It is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top.
One ought to sink to the bottom of the sea, probably, and live alone with one's words.
I am reading six books at once, the only way of reading; since, as you will agree, one book is only a single unaccompanied note, and to get the full sound, one needs ten others at the same time.
And yet, the only exciting life is the imaginary one.
I like people to be unhappy because I like them to have souls.
Once conform, once do what other people do because they do it, and a lethargy steals over all the finer nerves and faculties of the soul. She becomes all outer show and inward emptiness; dull, callous, and indifferent.
Long ago I realized that no other person would be to me what you are.
A perfect treat must include a trip to a second-hand bookshop.
Yield to that strange passion which sends you madly whirling round the room.
Arrange whatever pieces come your way.
My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery - always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then buried in mud. And why? What's this passion for?
Mrs Dalloway is always giving parties to cover the silence
Fatigue is the safest sleeping draught.
Women have served all these centuries as looking glasses possessing the power of reflecting the figure of man at twice its natural size.
For it would seem - her case proved it - that we write, not with the fingers, but with the whole person. The nerve which controls the pen winds itself about every fibre of our being, threads the heart, pierces the liver.
Never let anybody guess that you have a mind of your own. Above all be pure
How remorseless life is!
A veil of insanity everywhere: Oh why I was born in this age? It is a terrible age.
He who robs us of our dreams robs us of our life.
Language is wine upon the lips.
No passion is stronger in the breast of a man than the desire to make others believe as he believes. Nothing so cuts at the root of his happiness and fills him with rage as the sense that another rates low what he prizes high.
When the Day of Judgment dawns and people, great and small, come marching in to receive their heavenly rewards, the Almighty will gaze upon the mere bookworms and say to Peter, “Look, these need no reward. We have nothing to give them. They have loved reading.
It is a thousand pities never to say what one feels.
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