Djuna Barnes
Djuna Barnes
Djuna Barneswas an American writer and artist best known for her novel Nightwood, a cult classic of lesbian fiction and an important work of modernist literature...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth12 June 1892
CityStorm King Mountain, NY
CountryUnited States of America
heart lasts muscles
We are adhering to life now with our last muscle - the heart.
heart jealous imperfection
The heart of the jealous knows the best and most satisfying love, that of the other's bed, where the rival perfects the lover's imperfections.
new-york cities typical
New York is the meeting place of the peoples, the only city where you can hardly find a typical American.
strange forgotten said
I have been loved,' she said, 'by something strange, and it has forgotten me.
giving silence littles
I like my human experience served up with a little silence and restraint. Silence makes experience go further and, when it does die, gives it that dignity common to a thing one had touched and not ravished
too-much miserable made
I talk too much because I have been made so miserable by what you are keeping hushed.
taken heart love-is
Love becomes the deposit of the heart, analogous in all degrees to the 'findings' in a tomb. As in one will be charted the taken place of the body, the raiment, the utensils necessary to its other life, so in the heart of the lover will be traced, as an indelible shadow, that which he loves.
thinking brides
Why is it that whenever I hear music I think I’m a bride?
girl doors salad
We are beginning to wonder whether a servant girl hasn't the best of it after all. She knows how the salad tastes without the dressing, and she knows how life's lived before it gets to the parlor door.
endurance ruins depravity
What is a ruin but time easing itself of endurance?
moving night fire
Our bones ache only while the flesh is on them. Stretch it as thin as the temple flesh of an ailing woman and still it serves to ache the bone and to move the bone about; and in like manner the night is a skin pulled over the head of day that the day may be in a torment. We will find no comfort until the night melts away; until the fury of the night rots out its fire.
writing foolish draws
I can draw and write, and you'd be foolish not to hire me.
self truth-is shocking
The truth is how you say it, and to be 'one's self' is the most shocking custom of all.
thinking sick
To think is to be sick...