Virginia Woolf
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"Insignia of Order of the Companions of Honour/C.H." -->

"Adeline Virginia Woolf" was an English writer and one of the foremost modernist literature/modernists of the twentieth century.

During the interwar period, Woolf was a significant figure in London literary society and a central figure in the influential Bloomsbury Group of intellectuals. Her most famous works include the novels Mrs Dalloway (1925), To the Lighthouse (1927) and Orlando: A Biography/Orlando (1928), and the book-length essay A Room of One's Own (1929), with its famous dictum, "A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction." Woolf suffered from severe bouts of mental illness throughout her life, thought to have been the result of what is now termed bipolar disorder, and committed suicide by drowning in 1941 at the age of 59.

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I have lost friends, some by death... others through sheer inability to cross the street.

To look life in the face, always, to look life in the face, and to know it for what it is...at last, to love it for what it is, and then to put it away.

It is in our idleness, in our dreams, that the submerged truth sometimes comes to the top.

Once conform, once do what other people do because they do it, and a lethargy steals over all the finer nerves and faculties of the soul.

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.

I meant to write about death, only life came breaking in as usual.

Humor is the first of the gifts to perish in a foreign tongue.

On the outskirts of every agony sits some observant fellow who points.

Sleep, that deplorable curtailment of the joy of life.

Each has his past shut in him like the leaves of a book known to him by heart and his friends can only read the title.

You can not gain peace by avoiding life.

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

As a woman, I have no country. As a woman my country is the world.

Literature is strewn with the wreckage of those who have minded beyond reason the opinion of others.

I would venture to guess that Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.

I read the book of Job last night - I don't think God comes out well in it.

If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people.

For most of history, Anonymous was a woman.

The older one grows, the more one likes indecency.

I thought how unpleasant it is to be locked out; and I thought how it is worse, perhaps, to be locked in.