I shall never have what I want, for I lack bodily grace and the courage that comes with it. The swiftness of my mind is too strong for my body. I fail before I reach the end and fall in a heap, damp, perhaps disgusting. I excite pity in the in the crisis of life, not love. Therefore I suffer horribly…I see everything—except one thing—with complete clarity. That is my saving. That is what gives my suffering an unceasing excitement. That is what makes me dictate, even when I am silent. And since I am, in one respect, deluded, since the person is always changing, though not the desire, I do not know in the morning by whom I shall sit at night, I am never stagnant; I rise from my worse disasters, I turn, I change…in this pursuit I shall grow old.

Virginia Woolf, “The Waves”

(via killed-myself-when-i-was-young)

This moment I stand on is transitory, flying, diaphanous. I shall pass like a cloud on the waves. Perhaps it may be that though we change; one flying after another, so quick so quick, yet we are somehow successive and continuous- we human beings; and show the light through. But what is the light?
Virginia Woolf, Diary Entry, 4 January 1929. (via violentwavesofemotion)
‘Chloe liked Olivia,’ I read. And then it struck me how immense a change was there. Chloe liked Olivia perhaps for the first time in literature…All these relationships between women, I thought, rapidly recalling the splendid gallery of fictitious women, are too simple. So much has been left out, unattempted. And I tried to remember any case in the course of my reading where two women are represented as friends…They are confidantes, of course, in Racine and the Greek tragedies. They are now and then mothers and daughters. But almost without exception they are shown in their relation to men.
Virginia Woolf in “A Room of One’s Own” (via gerutha)
What was it then? Could things thrust their hands up and grip one; could the blade cut; the first grasp? Was there no safety? No learning by heart the ways of the world? No guide ,no shelter, but all was miracle, and leaping from the pinnacle of a tower into the air? Could it be,that this was life? - starltling, unexpected, unknown.?
Virginia Woolf,To The Lighthouse.
I cannot follow any word through its changes. I cannot follow any thought from present to past. I do not stand lost, with tears in my eyes remembering home; or lie, crumpled among the ferns, staining my pink cotton green, while I dream of plants that flower under the sea, and rocks through which the fish swim slowly. I do not dream.
Virginia Woolf,The Waves.