The beauty of the world...has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder.
Humour is the first of the gifts to perish in a foreign tongue.
It is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top.
Literature is strewn with the wreckage of men who have minded beyond reason the opinions of others.
Fiction is like a spider's web, attached ever so slightly perhaps, but still attached to life at all four corners. Often the attachment is scarcely perceptible.
If we didn't live venturously, plucking the wild goat by the beard, and trembling over precipices, we should never be depressed, I've no doubt; but already should be faded, fatalistic and aged
For masterpieces are not single and solitary births; they are the outcome of many years of thinking in common, of thinking by the body of the people, so that the experience of the mass is behind the single voice.
Women have served all these centuries as looking glasses possessing the magic and delicious power of reflecting the figure of man, at twice its natural size
The beauty of the world which is so soon to perish, has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart asunder.
You send a girl to school in order to make friends - the right sort.
It's not catastrophes, murders, deaths, diseases, that age and kill us; it's the way people look and laugh, and run up the steps up omnibuses.
As a woman, I have no country. As a woman my country is the world.
I ransack public libraries, and find them full of sunk treasure.
As a woman I have no country. As a woman I want no country. As a woman, my country is the whole world.
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?
Women have served all these centuries as looking glasses possessing the magic and delicious power of reflecting the figure of a man at twice its natural size.
Women have served all these centuries as looking glasses possessing the magic and delicious power of reflecting the figure of man at twice its natural size.
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?
A woman must have money and room of her own if she is to write fiction
Women have served all these centuries as looking-glasses possessing the magic and delicious power of reflecting the figure of a man at twice its natural size.
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