Virginia Woolf

One of the signs of passing youth is the birth of a sense of fellowship with other human beings as we take our place among them.

The poet gives us his essence, but prose takes the mold of the body and mind.

The eyes of others our prisons; their thoughts our cages.

I don't really go out that much, if I'm honest. I'm quite a recluse. If I had my way, I'd probably be at home most of the time with a book and a cup of tea or glass of wine.

My legs are nice, my lips are shapely, and my breasts are pretty. They popped up when I was 11 and they weren't small then. I was teased, but now those kids wish they had what I have!

All true language is incomprehensible, like the chatter of a beggar's teeth.