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There are two ways to reach me: by way of kisses or by way of the imagination. But there is a hierarchy: the kisses alone don't work.

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
Two
Work
Kisses
Way
Hierarchy
Love
Kissing
Reach
Ways
Imagination
Alone

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Tranquillity is contagious, peace is contagious. One only thinks of the contagiousness of illness, but there is the contagion of serenity and joy.
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You don't find love, it finds you. It's got a little bit to do with destiny, fate, and what's written in the stars.
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A man fell in love with Jeanne, and she tried to love him. But she complained that he uttered such ordinary words, that he could never say the magic phrase which would open her being.
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When others asked the truth of me, I was convinced it was not the truth they wanted, but an illusion they could bear to live with.
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What a mystery this is, desire. The love sickness, the sensitivity, the obsession, the flutter of the heart, the ebb and flow of the blood. There is no drug and no alcohol to equal it.
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I am quite wiling to confide entirely in human being, except that at some moment or another human beings get preoccupied, moody, busy, inattentive, and there come an end to the interest, and this never happens in a journal!
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The ivory tower of the artist may be the only stronghold left for human values, cultural treasures, man’s cult of beauty.
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In chaos, there is fertility.
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Nowhere is inhumanity more revealed than in hospitals.
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I believe the lasting revolution comes from deep changes in ourselves which influence our collective life.
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The monster I kill every day is the monster of realism. The monster who attacks me every day is destruction. Out of the duel comes the transformation. I turn destruction into creation over and over again.
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What is love but acceptance of the other, whatever he is.
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This great handsomeness I took into myself later when he desired me, but I took it as one breathes air, or swallows a snowflake, or yields to the sun.
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Ordinary life does not interest me. I seek only the high moments. I am in accord with the surrealists, searching for the marvelous.
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When you possess light within, you see it externally.
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I am lonely, yet not everybody will do. I don't know why, some people fill the gaps and others emphasize my loneliness. In reality those who satisfy me are those who simply allow me to live with my ''idea of them.
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A trite word is an overused word which has lost its identity like an old coat in a second-hand shop. The familiar grows dull and we no longer see, hear, or taste it.
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You cannot save people. You can only love them.
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I see enormous loves growing immense and finally crushing me.
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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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