Vita Sackville-West Quotes

I hope you miss me, though I could scarcely (even in the cause of vanity) wish you to miss me as much as I miss you, for that hurts too much, but what I do hope is that I’ve left some sort of a little blank which won’t be filled till I come back. I bear you a grudge for spoiling me for everybody’s else companionship, it is too bad.

You will get letters, very reasoned and illuminating, from many people; I cannot write you that sort of letter now, I can only tell you that I am shaken, which may seem to you useless and silly, but which is really a greater tribute than pages of calm appreciation...

I don't know what to say to you expect that it tore my heart out of my body saying goodbye to you.

She walks in the loveliness she made,
Between the apple-blossom and the water — She walks among the patterned pied brocade,
Each flower her son, and every tree her daughter.

I worshipped dead men for their strength, forgetting I was strong.

We owned a garden on a hill,
We planted rose and daffodil,
Flowers that English poets sing,
And hoped for glory in the Spring.
We planted yellow hollyhocks,
And humble sweetly-smelling stocks,
And columbine for carnival,
And dreamt of Summer's festival.
And Autumn not to be outdone
As heiress of the summer sun,
Should doubly wreathe her tawny head
With poppies and with creepers red.
We waited then for all to grow,
We planted wallflowers in a row.
And lavender and borage blue, -
Alas! we waited, I and you,
But love was all that ever grew.

And still the strange meaningless conversations continue, and I wonder more and more at the fabric which nets the world together, so that anything which I do finally incubate out of my system into words will quite certainly be about solitude. Solitude and the desirability of it, if one is to achieve anything like continuity in life, is the one idea I find in the resounding vacancy which is my head.

With me it is quite stark: I miss you even more than I could have believed, and I was prepared to miss you a good deal.

I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia. I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone. I just miss you...

Someday I’ll write and tell you all the things you mean to me in my mind. Shall I?

I think we have got something indestructible between us, haven't we?

It is no good my telling you. One never believes other people's experiencem and one is only very gradually convinced by one's own.

Virginia wasn’t all cool intellect by any means. She had the warmest and deepest and most human of affections for those she loved. They were few, perhaps, and she applied alarmingly high standards, but her love and humanity were real, once they were given.

Small pleasures must correct great tragedies, therefore of gardens in the midst of war I bold tell.

Don't mind being as miserable as you like with me - I have a great turn that way myself - [VW]