Quote

I sat there for three hours and did not feel the time or the boredom of our talk and its foolish disconnection. As long as I could hear his voice, I was quite lost, quite blind, quite outside my own self.

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
Long
Talk
Disconnection
Time
Hours
Sat
Voice
Boredom
Lost
Foolish
Three
Blind
Self
Outside
Feel
Hear
Feels
Quite

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What everyone forgets is that passion is not merely a heightened sensual fusion but a way of life which produces, as in the mystics, an ecstatic awareness of the whole of life.
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Dreams pass into the reality of action. From the actions stems the dream again and this interdependence produces the highest form of living.
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When you possess light within, you see it externally.
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The artist is the only one who knows that the world is a subjective creation, that there is a choice to be made, a selection of elements.
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When I don't write, I feel my world shrink. I lose my fire, my color.
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You marry the day you realize the human defects of your love.
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When one is pretending the entire body revolts.
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... only love begets love.
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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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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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Guilt is the one burden human beings can't bear alone.
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I often see how you sob over what you destroy, how you want to stop and just worship and you do stop, and then a moment later you are at it again with a knife, like a surgeon.
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Solitude may rust your words.
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The final lesson a writer learns is that everything can nourish the writer. The dictionary, a new word, a voyage, an encounter, a talk on the street, a book, a phrase learned.
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It is a sign of great inner insecurity to be hostile to the unfamiliar.
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Physical experiences, lacking the joys of love, depend on twists and perversions of pleasure. Abnormal pleasures kill the taste for normal ones.
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Through love, through friendship, a heart lives more than one life.
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I walk ahead of myself in perpetual expectancy of miracles.
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One always, sooner or later, comes upon a city which is an image of one's inner cities. Fez is an image of my inner self. ... The layers of the city of Fez are like the layers and secrecies of the inner life. One needs a guide. ... There were in Fez, as in my life, streets which led nowhere, impasses which remained a mystery.
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I love your silences, they are like mine.
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