Citas (con) Woolf

Alone, I often fall down into nothingness. Virginia Woolf, The Waves 

I, whom loneliness destroys, let silence fall, drop by drop. Virginia Woolf, The Waves 

I feel all shadows of the universe multiplied deep inside my skin. Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry dated 5 November 1931.

Why is it? Why are we all so tongue-tied and spellbound? Why do we perhaps live three streets off and yet never meet? Where is the intimacy? Where is the warmth? I think human beings are fundamentally crashed by a sense of their insignificance. I am perpetually overwhelmed by realizations of this kind. And nothing matters - nothing I say, feel, or think, truly makes a difference. Virginia Woolf, Selected

I’m fading gracefully. The tragedy does not lie upon the fall. It lies upon the leftovers of fatal grace. Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry dated 22 January 1933.

Why should I be bothering myself with questions which shall eternally remain unanswered? How queer that wave of agony; melancholy paralyzing my senses, beautifully, yet for nothing. Virginia Woolf, from a diaryentry dated 5 July 1919.

I see my own worthlessness and failure so clearly; and lie gazing into the depths of the misery of human life; and then one gets up and everything begins again and it’s all covered up […] Virginia Woolf, Selected Letters

Is it all dust and ashes? Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry dated 11 March 1939.

One ought to sink to the bottom of the sea, probably, and live alone with one’s words. Virginia Woolf, A Writer’s Diary

I don’t know when I have suffered more; and yet why did I suffer? And what did I suffer? I said, “I love life”; disillusion filled me: all belief fell off me. Hopelessness broke my bones. Virginia Woolf, Selected Letters

I shall be mad at Vita and yet she makes me feel; she inspires myriads of emotions in me. And that alone is enough. Virginia Woolf, Selected Letters

Sitting alone among the clean cups at the long table, she felt cut off from other people, and able only to go on watching, asking, wondering; what does it mean then? What can it all mean? Virginia Woolf, To The Lighthouse

I like the still, the profound slow happiness best. Virginia Woolf, from a diarydated 20 August 1930.

Rustling among my emotions, I found nothing better than dead leaves.Virginia Woolf, from a diary Entry dated 30 September 1926.

(y bueno... cuándo uno no sabe qué decir - en realidad cómo decir, porque siempre hay palabras - debe hacer eco de lo ajeno. ¿Tal vez en esperanza de que se haga eco de lo que no se puede decir?)
(Y no. No leí todo eso. Ojalá. Apenas si leí uno.)

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