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  • #1
    Virginia Woolf
    “For now she need not think of anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of - to think; well not even to think. To be silent; to be alone. All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others... and this self having shed its attachments was free for the strangest adventures.”
    Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

  • #2
    Virginia Woolf
    “And all the lives we ever lived and all the lives to be are full of trees
    and changing leaves.”
    Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

  • #3
    Virginia Woolf
    “...she took her hand and raised her brush. For a moment it stayed trembling in a painful but exciting ecstacy in the air. Where to begin?--that was the question at what point to make the first mark? One line placed on the canvas committed her to innumerable risks, to frequent and irrevocable decisions. All that in idea seemed simple became in practice immediately complex; as the waves shape themselves symmetrically from the cliff top, but to the swimmer among them are divided by steep gulfs, and foaming crests. Still the risk must run; the mark made.”
    Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

  • #4
    Virginia Woolf
    “Our apparitions, the things you know us by, are simply childish. Beneath it is all dark, it is all spreading, it is unfathomably deep; but now and again we rise to the surface and that is what you see us by.”
    Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

  • #5
    Virginia Woolf
    “The sigh of all the seas breaking in measure round the isles soothed them; the night wrapped them; nothing broke their sleep, until, the birds beginning and the dawn weaving their thin voices in to its whiteness”
    Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

  • #6
    Virginia Woolf
    “Books are the mirrors of the soul.”
    Virginia Woolf, Between the Acts

  • #7
    Virginia Woolf
    “I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realises an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thus we don't have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.”
    Virginia Woolf

  • #8
    Virginia Woolf
    “What is the meaning of life? That was all- a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years, the great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one.”
    Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

  • #9
    Virginia Woolf
    “I am reading six books at once, the only way of reading; since, as you will agree, one book is only a single unaccompanied note, and to get the full sound, one needs ten others at the same time.”
    Virginia Woolf, The Letters of Virginia Woolf: Volume Three, 1923-1928

  • #10
    Virginia Woolf
    “I will not be "famous," "great." I will go on adventuring, changing, opening my mind and my eyes, refusing to be stamped and stereotyped. The thing is to free one's self: to let it find its dimensions, not be impeded.”
    Virginia Woolf, A Writer's Diary

  • #11
    Virginia Woolf
    “Mrs Dalloway is always giving parties to cover the silence”
    Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway

  • #12
    Virginia Woolf
    “Did it matter then, she asked herself, walking towards Bond Street, did it matter that she must inevitably cease completely? All this must go on without her; did she resent it; or did it not become consoling to believe that death ended absolutely?”
    Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway

  • #13
    Virginia Woolf
    “To love makes one solitary.”
    Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway

  • #14
    Henry Miller
    “The ideal community, in a sense, would be the loose, fluid aggregation of individuals who elected to be alone and detached in order to be at one with themselves and all that lives and breathes. It would be a God-filled community, even if none of its members believe in (a) God. It would be a paradise, even though the word had long disappeared from our vocabulary.”
    Henry Miller, Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch

  • #15
    Henry Miller
    “Surely every one realizes, at some point along the way, that he is capable of living a far better life than the one he has chose. What stays him, usually, is the fear of the sacrifices involved. (Even to relinquish his chains seems like a sacrifice.) Yet everyone knows that nothing is accomplished without sacrifice.”
    Henry Miller, Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch

  • #16
    Ahmir "Questlove" Thompson
    “[Creativity] is about finding your own unique way of fitting into the continually repeating human experience.”
    Questlove, Creative Quest

  • #17
    Hermann Hesse
    “Wisdom cannot be imparted. Wisdom that a wise man attempts to impart always sounds like foolishness to someone else ... Knowledge can be communicated, but not wisdom. One can find it, live it, do wonders through it, but one cannot communicate and teach it.”
    Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

  • #18
    Hermann Hesse
    “When someone seeks," said Siddhartha, "then it easily happens that his eyes see only the thing that he seeks, and he is able to find nothing, to take in nothing because he always thinks only about the thing he is seeking, because he has one goal, because he is obsessed with his goal. Seeking means: having a goal. But finding means: being free, being open, having no goal.”
    Herman Hesse, Siddhartha

  • #19
    Hermann Hesse
    “What could I say to you that would be of value, except that perhaps you seek too much, that as a result of your seeking you cannot find.”
    Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

  • #20
    Hermann Hesse
    “He has robbed me, yet he has given me something of greater value . . . he has given to me myself.”
    Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

  • #21
    Hermann Hesse
    “The reason why I do not know anything about myself, the reason why Siddhartha has remained alien and unknown to myself is due to one thing, to one single thing--I was afraid of myself, I was fleeing from myself. I was seeking Atman, I was seeking Brahman, I was determined to dismember myself and tear away its layers of husk in order to find in its unknown innermost recess the kernel at the heart of those layers, the Atman, life, the divine principle, the ultimate. But in so doing, I was losing myself.”
    Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

  • #22
    Paulo Coelho
    “When we love, we always strive to become better than we are. When we strive to become better than we are, everything around us becomes better too.”
    Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

  • #23
    Anaïs Nin
    “A man is what he does every day,” said Emerson.”
    Anaïs Nin, A Literate Passion: Letters of Anais Nin & Henry Miller, 1932-1953

  • #24
    Anaïs Nin
    “Write immediately, yes! But as artist! Write with the task in mind—always trying to say the thing in the best way you can. The how! Not the what!”
    Anaïs Nin, A Literate Passion: Letters of Anais Nin & Henry Miller, 1932-1953

  • #25
    Anaïs Nin
    “Man needs reality, and woman illusion. Man needs illusion, too, but the woman who gives him illusion also gives him less reality—in proportion.”
    Anaïs Nin, A Literate Passion: Letters of Anais Nin & Henry Miller, 1932-1953

  • #26
    Anaïs Nin
    “Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.”
    Anais Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934

  • #27
    Anaïs Nin
    “You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book… or you take a trip… and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death. Some never awaken.”
    Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934

  • #28
    Anaïs Nin
    “Man can never know the loneliness a woman knows. Man lies in the woman's womb only to gather strength, he nourishes himself from this fusion, and then he rises and goes into the world, into his work, into battle, into art. He is not lonely. He is busy. The memory of the swim in amniotic fluid gives him energy, completion. Woman may be busy too, but she feels empty. Sensuality for her is not only a wave of pleasure in which she is bathed, and a charge of electric joy at contact with another. When man lies in her womb, she is fulfilled, each act of love a taking of man within her, an act of birth and rebirth, of child rearing and man bearing. Man lies in her womb and is reborn each time anew with a desire to act, to be. But for woman, the climax is not in the birth, but in the moment man rests inside of her.”
    Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934

  • #29
    Anaïs Nin
    “Ordinary life does not interest me. I seek only the high moments. I am in accord with the surrealists, searching for the marvelous. I want to be a writer who reminds others that these moments exist; I want to prove that there is infinite space, infinite meaning, infinite dimension. But I am not always in what I call a state of grace. I have days of illuminations and fevers. I have days when the music in my head stops. Then I mend socks, prune trees, can fruits, polish furniture. But while I am doing this I feel I am not living.”
    Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934

  • #30
    Anaïs Nin
    “I don’t really want to become normal, average, standard. I want merely to gain in strength, in the courage to live out my life more fully, enjoy more, experience more. I want to develop even more original and more unconventional traits”
    Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934



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