virginia's vivid nightmares
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It's far harder to kill a phantom than a reality.

(…) all my nerves stood upright, flushed, electrified (whats the word?) with the sheer beauty - beauty abounding and superabounding, so that one almost resents it, not being capable of catching it all, & holding it all at the moment.
Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry dated Sunday 3 August (1924)

(Source: shakespearewasaunicorn)

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The steps from brain to brain must be cut very shallow, if thought is to mount them, she noted.
Virginia Woolf, The Years | Permalink
virginiawoolfblog:

Virginia Woolf with her brother Adrian Stephen and his wife Karin Stephen in 1934

virginiawoolfblog:

Virginia Woolf with her brother Adrian Stephen and his wife Karin Stephen in 1934
Twice Flush had done his utmost to kill his enemy; twice he had failed. And why had he failed, he asked himself? Because he loved Miss Barrett. Looking up at her from under his eyebrows as she lay, severe and silent on the sofa, he knew that he must love her for ever. But things are not simple but complex. If he bit Mr. Browning he bit her too. Hatred is not hatred; hatred is also love. Here Flush shook his ears in an agony of perplexity. He turned uneasily on the floor. Mr. Browning was Miss Barrett–Miss Barrett was Mr. Browning; love is hatred and hatred is love. He stretched himself, whined and raised his head from the floor. The clock struck eight. For three hours and more had he been lying there, tossed from the horn of one dilemma to another.
Virginia Woolf, Flush: A Biography | Permalink
I will dream today; for I must unscrew my head somehow.
Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry dated 19 October 1937 (via shakespearewasaunicorn) | Permalink

missprothero:

The thing to long for is the impossible thing: for time to slow, for the chance to loiter in a moment. A novel offers such a chance; it is a portal into a preserved wedge of time, a past, present, and future that can be revisited in a way our own can never be.”

1 week ago | Permalink
(…) and beneath these pavements are shells, bones and silence.
Virginia Woolf, The Waves (via lai-ika) | Permalink
Hello, have you any photographs of Mitz their marmoset? I cannot find any online
by Anonymous

Hi! Try the following links -  1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and in this one Leonard is holding Mitz in his hand. Hope this helped! 

Asked 1 week ago | Permalink
The Hours

The Hours

(Source: againbeholdthestars)

They avoided each other’s eyes; neither of them wanted any more emotion tonight.
Virginia Woolf, The Years | Permalink
Leonard in old age, at Monks House, Rodmell, Sussex - Photograph from his autobiography

Leonard in old age, at Monks House, Rodmell, Sussex - Photograph from his autobiography

She rammed a little hole in the sand and covered it up, by way of burying in it the perfection of the moment. It was like a drop of silver in which one dipped and illumined the darkness of the past.
Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse | Permalink
The being grows rings, like a tree. Like a tree, leaves fall.
Virginia Woolf, The Waves | Permalink

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