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I postpone death by living, by suffering, by error, by risking, by giving, by losing.

Anais Nin

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Anais Nin
Age: 73 †
Born: 1903
Born: February 21
Died: 1977
Died: January 14
Author
Autobiographer
Diarist
Novelist
Screenwriter
Writer
Neuilly
Angela Anaïs Juana Antolina Rosa Edelmira Nin y Culmell
Anais Nin
Errors
Yoga
Postponing
Losing
Postpone
Suffering
Risking
Living
Sunset
Death
Memorable
Giving
Error
Life
Meaningful

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Everything with me is either worship and passion or pity and understanding. I hate rarely, though when I hate. I hate murderously.
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Three or four threads may be agitated, like telegraph wires, at the same time, and if I were to tap them all I would reveal such a mixture of innocence and duplicity, generosity and calculation, fear and courage, I cannot tell the whole truth simply because I would have to write four journals at once.
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I want to love you wildly. I don’t want words, but inarticulate cries, meaningless, from the bottom of my most primitive being, that flow from my belly like honey. A piercing joy, that leaves me empty, conquered, silenced.
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I know no joy as great as a moment of rushing into a new love, no ecstasy like that of a new love.
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Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.
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Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.
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Truth is something which can't be told in a few words. Those who simplify the universe only reduce the expansion of its meaning.
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In my dreams I sleep with everybody.
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There are many ways to be free. One of them is to transcend reality by imagination, as I try to do.
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The leaf fall of his words, the stained glass hues of his moods, the rust in his voice, the smoke in his mouth, his breath on my vision like human breath blinding a mirror.
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perhaps the only magician we have is the artist.
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If a person continues to see giants, it means he is still looking at the world through the eyes of a child.
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A leaf fluttered in through the window this morning, as if supported by the rays of the sun, a bird settled on the fire escape, joy in the task of coffee, joy accompanied me as I walked.
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Create a world, your world. Alone. Stand alone. And then love will come to you, then it comes to you.
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He was now in that state of fire that she loved. She wanted to be burnt.
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Reality doesn’t impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me. I escape, one way or another. No more walls.
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The man who was once starved may revenge himself upon the world not by stealing just once, or by stealing only what he needs, but by taking from the world an endless toll in payment of something irreplaceable, which is the lost faith.
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... and the very folds of the curtains contained secrets and sighs.
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My diary seems to keep me whole.
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The poet is one who is able to keep the fresh vision of the child alive.
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