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I stopped loving my father a long time ago. What remained was the slavery to a pattern.

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
Loving
Literature
Father
Remained
Long
Boyfriend
Time
Pattern
Stopped
Patterns
Slavery

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the cynic is a coward. He foresees all barrenness so that barrenness can never surprise him.
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The value of the personal relationship to all things is that it creates intimacy and intimacy creates understanding and understanding creates love.
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If what Proust says is true, that happiness is the absence of fever, then I will never know happiness. For I am possessed by a fever for knowledge, experience, and creation.
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The risk it takes to remain tight inside the bud is more painful than the risk it takes to blossom. We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are.
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I love the abstract, delicate, profound, vague, voluptuously wordless sensation of living ecstatically.
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People living deeply have no fear of death.
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There is no bleaker moment in life of the city than that one which crosses the boundary lines between those who have not slept all night and those who are going to work. It was for Sabina as if two races of men and women lived on earth, the night people and the day people, never meeting face to face except at this moment.
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Each friend represents a world in us.
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I see enormous loves growing immense and finally crushing me.
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We three belong to the Middle Ages. We have this need of heroism, and there is no place for such feelings in modern life. That is our tragedy. Once I wanted to be a saint. It seemed the only absolute act left to do, for what is most powerful in me is the craving for purity, greatness.
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We are going to the moon that is not very far. Man has so much farther to go within himself.
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The source of sexual power is curiosity, passion. You are watching its little flame die of asphyxiation.
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Life is a full circle, widening until it joins the circle motions of the infinite.
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The softness of the summer day like an ermine paw.
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Tropical nights are hammocks for lovers.
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The truly faithless one is the one who makes love to only a fraction of you. And denies the rest.
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The imagination is far better at inventing tortures than life because the imagination is a demon within us and it knows where to strike, where it hurts. It knows the vulnerable spot, and life does not, our friends and lovers do not, because seldom do they have the imagination equal to the task.
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Human beings can reach such desperate solitude that they may cross a boundary beyond which words cannot serve, and at such moments there is nothing left for them but to bark.
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The enemy of a love is never outside, it's not a man or woman, it's what we lack in ourselves.
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The woman will sit eternally in the tall black armchair. I will be the one woman you will never have...excessive living weighs down the imagination: we will not live, we will only write and talk to swell the sails.
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