Vita Sackville-West Quotes

After all, what is a lovely phrase? One that has mopped up as much Truth as it can hold.

J'ai toujours pensé qu'il valait mieux plaire beaucoup à une seule personne, qu'un peu à tout le monde.

One must be businesslike, although the glass is falling.

I am absolutely devoted to her, but not in love. So there.

She loves in a way that will make her suffer horribly.

Lovers, or potential lovers, ought never to meet before the afternoon.

We could never have hit it off for long. There was never anything but love to keep us together.

The fount of joy was bubbling in thine eyes,
Dancing was in thy feet,
And on thy lips a laugh that never dies,
Unutterably sweet.
Dance on! for ever young, for ever fair,
Lightfooted as a frightened bounding deer,
Thy wreath of vine-leaves twisted in thy hair,
Through all the changing seasons of the year...

I cried, but in strange places,

I wish, in a way, that we could put the clock back a year. I should like to startle you again, – even though I didn’t know then that you were startled.

I simply adore Virginia Woolf, and so would you. You would fall quite flat before her charm and personality.
[...] Mrs. Woolf is so simple: she does give the impression of something big. She is utterly unaffected: there is no outward adornments — she dresses quite atrociously. At first you think she is plain; then a sort of spiritual beauty imposes itself on you, and you find a fascination in watching her. She was smarter last night; that is to say, the woolen orange stockings were replaced by yellow silk ones, but she still wore the pumps. She is both detached and human, silent till she wants to say something, and then says it supremely well. She is quite old. I've rarely taken such a fancy to anyone, and I think she likes me. At least, she's asked me to Richmond where she lives. Darling, I have quite lost my heart.

There is another danger which you can scarcely hope to escape. It is the weight of the past. Not only will you esteem material objects because they are old — I am not superficial enough to reproach you for so harmless a weakness — but, more banefully, you will venerate ideas and institutions because they have remained for a long time in force; for so long a time as to appear to you absolute and unalterable. That is real atrophy of the soul. You inherit your code ready-made. That waxwork figure labelled Gentleman will be forever mopping and mowing at you… You will never wonder why you pursue a certain course of behaviour; you will pursue it because it is the thing to do. And the past is to blame for all this; inheritance, tradition, upbringing; your nurse, your father, your tutor, your public school, Chevron, your ancestors, all the gamut. Even should you try to break loose it will be in vain… though you may wobble in your orbit, you can never escape from it.

"One cannot, I find, talk to a knitter. Conversation may seem to be going in that greased, easy way essential to all good conversation; starting hares too lavishly to follow them up; allowing pauses for rumination; bursts for sudden eagerness; digressions, returns, new departures, discoveries of rooted creeds or new ideas — sooner or later the challenge is bound to come: "Don't you agree?" or "What do you think?" "Yes?" says the knitter, startled but polite, "seventy-five, seventy-six — just a moment till I get to the end of my row — seventy-seven, seventy-eight — yes," she says, looking up brightly, "it's all right now. What were you saying?" But of course one has forgotten or no longer cares."

You angel, you have written. [...]
Please, in all this muddle of life, continue to be a bright and constant star. Just a few things remain as beacons: poetry, and you, and solitude. You see that I am extremely sentimental. Had you suspected that?

Tomorrow I dine with my darling Mrs Woolf at Richmond [...] I love Mrs Woolf with a sick passion. So will you. In fact I don't think I will let you know her.