Fiction is like a spider's web, attached ever so lightly perhaps, but still attached to life at all four corners. Often the attachment is scarcely perceptible.
Virginia Woolf (1882 - 1941)
Source: A Room Of One's Own, ch. 3 (1929).
Contributed by: Zaady
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.
Source: A Room of One's Own, 1929
The word-coining genius, as if thought plunged into a sea of words and came up dripping.
Source: The Common Reader, 1925, An Elizabethan Play
Literature is strewn with the wreckage of those who have minded beyond reason the opinion of others.
One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.
To enjoy freedom . . . we have of course to control ourselves. We must not squander our powers, helplessly and ignorantly, squirting half the house in order to water a single rose.
Source: The Second Common Reader
Moreover, a book is not made of sentences laid end to end, but of sentences built, if an image helps, into arcades or domes.
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