Vita Sackville-West Quotes

The works of God, I always felt, were given freely to anyone who could appreciate them whether millionaire or pauper…

Aparentemente no tenía opiniones: no tenía más que estados de ánimo a cuya intensidad arrolladora solo igualaba la velocidad con la que sucedían. No se acostumbraba a su impermanencia; cualquiera que fuera su condición mental del momento, al instante creía ver en ella una visión asentada de la vida. Súbitamente alarmado cuando ese estado le abandonaba, enseguida pasaba a otro, con olvidadizo optimismo.

That was old age, when people knew everything so well that they could no longer afford to express it save in symbols.

But, perversely, the flittering of the butterflies had always remained more important.

Usted me ha deslumbrado, le he admirado, le he contemplado y he pensado en usted, en cierto modo le he venerado casi, no me importa reconocerlo, pero eso no es lo mismo que estar enamorada.

I always preferre the works of God to the works of man. The works of God, I always felt, were given freely to anyone who could appreciate them, whether millionair or pauper, wheras the works of man were reserved for the millionaires. Unless, indeed, the works of man were sufficient to the man who made them; then, it wouldn't matter what millionaire bought them in after years.

They strolled down the slope, Chase breaking from the lilac bushes an armful of the heavy plumes. He seemed to do it with an unknowing gesture, as though he couldn’t keep his hands off flowers, and then to be embarrassed on discovering in his arms the wealth that he had gathered. It was as though he had kept an adequate guard over his tongue while allowing his gestures to escape him.

For one's hands are the parts of one's body that one suddenly sees with the maximum of detachment; they are suddenly far off; and one observes their marvellous articulations, and miraculous response to the transmission of instantaneous messages, as though they belonged to another person, or to another piece of machinery; one observes even the oval of their nails, the pores of their skin, the wrinkles of their phalanges and knuckles, their smoothness or rugosities, with an estimating and interested eye; they have been one's servants and yet one has not investigated their personality; a personality which, cheiromancy assures us is so much bound up with out own. One sees them also, as the case may be, loaded with rings or rough with work.

I miss you horribly, and apart from that am permanently infuriated by the thought of what you could make of this country if only you could be got here. You see, you ought to.

...his diminishing honours trailing away behind him like the tail of a comet - he had drooped in his chair after dinner, and the accumulation of ninety years had receded abruptly into history.

Me dijo que se pasó toda la representación recibiendo de ella más sensaciones y más información sobre las profundidades del alma humana de las que jamás había recibido de fuera de sí misma a través de ningún medio conocido como la literatura, la pintura o la música.

I sing the cycle of my country's year,
I sing the tillage, and the reaping sing,

Si era mundana, lo era a escala grandiosa. Si era interesada, pujaba por las mayores fortunas. Si amaba, era en los lugares más encumbrados. Si reconocía ambición en sí, era por el poder más alto. Si sufría, era en el plano de la tragedia.

Why do we, every one of us, refute the experience of others, preferring to gain our own? Why do we fight against government? Why do I want to be independent of my father? or the Islands independent of Herakleion? or Herakleion, independent of Greece? What’s this instinct of wanting to stand alone, to be oneself, isolated, free, individual? Why does instinct push us towards individualism, when the great well-being of mankind probably lies in solidarity? when the social system in its most elementary form starts with men clubbing together for comfort and greater safety? No sooner have we achieved our solidarity, our hierarchy, our social system, our civilisation, than we want to get away from it. A vicious circle; the wheel revolves, and brings us back to the same point from which we started.

Prune my ambition to the lowly prayer
That I may drive the furrow of my tale
Straight, through the lives and dignities I know.