Quotes about Author
He would hope to find us suffering proudly—not miserably—knowing how to die.
— Viktor E. Frankl
There are some authors who contend that meanings and values are "nothing but defense mechanisms, reaction formations and sublimations." But as for myself, I would not be willing to live merely for the sake of my "defense mechanisms," nor would I be ready to die merely for the sake of my "reaction formations.
— Viktor E. Frankl
Statue of Liberty on the East Coast be supplemented by a Statue of Responsibility on the West Coast.
— Viktor E. Frankl
Meaning is missing in the world as described by many a science. This, however, does not imply that the world is void of meaning but only that many a science is blind to it. Meaning is scotomized by many a science.
— Viktor E. Frankl
Anyone who has the temerity to write about Jane Austen is aware of [two] facts: first, that of all great writers she is the most difficult to catch in the act of greatness; second, that there are twenty-five elderly gentlemen living in the neighbourhood of London who resent any slight upon her genius as if it were an insult to the chastity of their aunts.
— Virginia Woolf
Her life was a tissue of vanity and deceit.
— Virginia Woolf
I should never be able to fulfill what is,I understand, the first duty of a lecturer-to hand you after an hour's discourse a nugget of pure truth to wrap up between the pages of your notebooks and keep on the mantelpiece forever.
— Virginia Woolf
It is a still stranger thing that there is nothing so delightful in the world as telling stories. It is far pleasanter than writing reviews of famous novels.
— Virginia Woolf
I almost envied him the possession of this modest and clear flame.
— Virginia Woolf
I have been stained by you and corrupted. You smelt so unpleasant too, lining up outside doors to buy tickets.
— Virginia Woolf
Unhappiness is everywhere; just beyond the door; or stupidity, which is worse
— Virginia Woolf
To follow her thought was like following a voice which speaks too quickly to be taken down by one's pencil, and the voice was her own voice saying without prompting undeniable, everlasting, contradictory things.
— Virginia Woolf