Quotes related to Psalm 119:105
When the Day of Judgment dawns and people, great and small, come marching in to receive their heavenly rewards, the Almighty will gaze upon the mere bookworms and say to Peter, "Look, these need no reward. We have nothing to give them. They have loved reading.
— Virginia Woolf
But then anyone who's worth anything reads just what he likes, as the mood takes him, and with extravagant enthusiasm.
— Virginia Woolf
It is strange how a scrap of poetry works in the mind and makes the legs move in time to it along the road.
— Virginia Woolf
Come indoors then, and open the books on your library shelves. For you have a library and a good one. A working library, a living library; a library where nothing is chained down and nothing is locked up; a library where the songs of the singers rise naturally from the lives of the livers.
— Virginia Woolf
But what is more to the point is my belief that the habit of writing thus for my own eye only is good practice. It loosens the ligaments. Never mind the misses and the stumbles.
— Virginia Woolf
I dance. I ripple. I am thrown over you like a net of light. I lie quivering flung over you.
— Virginia Woolf
Even the names of the books gave me food for thought.
— Virginia Woolf
It sharpened, it refined them, the yellow-blue evening light; and on the leaves in the square shone lurid, livid - they looked as if dipped in sea water - the foliage of a submerged city.
— Virginia Woolf
She walked with Bertram; she walked rather like a stag, with a little give of the ankles, fanning herself, majestic, silent, with all her senses roused, her ears pricked, snuffing the air, as if she had been some wild, but perfectly controlled creature taking its pleasure by night.
— Virginia Woolf
It is so vast an alleviation to be able to point for another to look at. And then not to talk. To follow the dark paths of the mind and enter the past, to visit books, to brush aside their branches and break off some fruit.
— Virginia Woolf
The whole of life did not consist in going to bed with a woman, he thought, returning to Scott and Balzac, to the English novel and the French novel.
— Virginia Woolf
What a vast fertility of pleasure books hold for me! (...) I think I could happily live here & read forever.
— Virginia Woolf