Anais Nin
Anais Nin
Anaïs Ninwas an essayist and memoirist born to Cuban parents in France, where she was also raised. She spent some time in Spain and Cuba but lived most of her life in the United States where she became an established author. She wrote journals, novels, critical studies, essays, short stories, and erotica. A great deal of her work, including Delta of Venus and Little Birds, was published posthumously...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth21 February 1903
CityNanterre, France
CountryUnited States of America
To change skins, evolve into new cycles, I feel one has to learn to discard. If one changes internally one should not continue to live with the same objects. They reflect one's mind and psyche of yesterday. I throw away what has no dynamic, living use.
I cannot concentrate all my friendship on any single one of my friends because no one is complete enough in himself.
Now that I am moving, I am afraid. Where am I going?
He has, like me, a sense of smell. I let him inhale me, then I slip away.
I told her, "We have both lost ourselves, but sometimes we reveal the most when we are least like ourselves. I am not trying to think any more. I can't think when I am with you. You are like me, wishing for a perfect moment, but nothing too long imagined can be perfect in a worldly way. Neither one of us can say just the right thing. We are overwhelmed. Let us be overwhelmed. It is so lovely, so lovely. I love you June.
I can’t let you go now. I want to go places with you; obscure little places, just to be able to say: here I came with her.
We did not touch each other. We were both leaning over the abyss.
It is easy to love and there are so many ways to do it.
Love men and women not for their strength but their softness, not for their fullness but their hunger, not for their plenty but their need.
We don't have a language for the senses. Feelings are images, sensations are like musical sounds.
Anxiety is loves greatest killer.
Too late for changes, too late perhaps for explanations and ideological webs, but the love goes on, the love goes on, blind to laws and warnings and even to wisdom and to fears. And whatever that love is, perhaps an illusion of a new love, I want it, I cant resist it, my whole being melts in one kiss, my knowledge melts, my fears melt, my blood dances, my legs open.
The violence and obscenity are left unadulterated, as manifestation of the mystery and pain which ever accompanies the act of creation.
We don't see things as they are, we see them as we ... believe me naïve or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.