Virginia Woolf Quotes

Most songs are somewhere between love and death, and mine are no exception.

The only love that feels like love is the doomed kind. (Fun fact.)

Romantic love is an illusion. Most of us discover this truth at the end of a love affair or else when the sweet emotions of love lead us into marriage and then turn down their flames.

I'm happy to stick with my persona. There are themes of love lost and love regained, but the main themes of all poems are basically love and death, and that seems to be the message of poetry.

Somebody," said Jacques, "your father or mine, should have told us that not many people have ever died of love. But multitudes have perished, and are perishing every hour - and in the oddest places! - for the lack of it.

Yes, it's crazy. Love is either crazy or it's nothing at all.

Then she was pressing her little proud broken self against his face, as close as she could get, and then they died.

One day you and I will have to have a little talk about this business called love. I still don't understand what it's all about. My guess is that it's just a gigantic hoax, invented to keep people quiet and diverted. Everyone talks about love: the priests, the advertising posters, the literati, and the politicians, those of them who make love. And in speaking of love and offering it as a panacea for every tragedy, they would and betray and kill both body and soul.

in the nineteenth year and the eleventh month speak your tattered Kaddish for all suicides: Praise to life though it crumbled in like a tunnel on ones we knew and loved Praise to life though its windows blew shut on the breathing-room of ones we knew and loved Praise to life though ones we knew and loved loved it badly, too well, and not enough Praise to life though it tightened like a knot on the hearts of ones we thought we knew loved us Praise to life giving room and reason to ones we knew and loved who felt unpraisable. Praise to them, how they loved it, when they could.

Ah love, let us be true to one another, which seems to lie before us like a land of dreams; so various, so beautiful, so new, hath really neither joy nor love nor life.

I have one thing that counts, and that is my heart; it burns in my soul, it aches in my flesh, and it ignites my nerves: that is my love for the people and Peron.

The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.

There was a time when you would have taken my heart with stake or gun. Now you have taken it with these delicate hands and the scent of your body." - Jean-Claude

Love! Beyond measure — beyond death — it nearly kills. But one wouldn't have been without it.

Love is a fever," she said. "And when you come out of it you'll discover whether you've been lucky - or not.

We know that madness belongs to love,--what power to paint a vile object in hues of heaven.

I loved her, atom by atom, one burning cell at a time.

My love runs by like a day in June, And he makes no friends of sorrows. He'll tread his galloping rigadoon In the pathway of the morrows. He'll live his days where the sunbeams start, Nor could storm or wind uproot him. My own dear love, he is all my heart, -- And I wish somebody'd shoot him.

I know. I know that I shall never again meet anything or anybody who will inspire me with passion. You know, it's quite a job starting to love somebody. You have to have energy, generosity, blindness. There is even a moment, in the very beginning, when you have to jump across a precipice: if you think about it you don't do it. I know I'll never jump again.

When a man is in love very little is enough to throw him into despair and as little to enhance his joy to the utmost.

When love ceases to be tragic it is something else and the individual again throws himself in search of tragedy.

We fall in love forever many times, and many times we die.

If you die and i live there's no life for me back in District 12. You're my whole life. I would never be happy again.

Loving and perishing: it's been a rhyme all these eternities. The will to love: that is, also being willing to die.

Of all the things that men may heed 'Tis most of love they sing indeed.