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

More quotes by Anais Nin

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I postpone death by living, by suffering, by error, by risking, by giving, by losing.
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I don't tell the truth any more to those who can't make use of it. I tell it mostly to myself, because it always changes me.
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The unconscious can become destructive if it is disregarded and thwarted.
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I am like a snake who has already bitten. I retreat from a direct battle while knowing the slow effect of the poison.
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Where the myth fails, human love begins. Then we love a human being, not our dream, but a human being with flaws.
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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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Your strength is soft, indirect, delicate, tender, womanly. But it is strength just the same.
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Beware of allowing a tactless word, a rebuttal, a rejection to obliterate the whole sky
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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 did not feel drawn to huxley. He was beautiful physically but again without vibrations or sensory antennae... and I had a painful impression of a psychic blindness. With all his science and knowledge, in the mystic world he blundered.
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Solitude may rust your words.
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I stopped loving my father a long time ago. What remained was the slavery to a pattern.
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I like extravagance. Letters which give the postman a stiff back to carry, books which overflow from their covers, sexuality which bursts the thermometers.
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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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I would like to have your sureness. I am waiting for love, the core of a woman's life. Don't wait for it, I said. Create a world, your world. Alone. Stand alone. And then love will come to you, then it comes to you. It was only when I wrote my first book that the world I wanted to live in opened to me.
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We do not escape into philosophy, psychology, and art--we go there to restore our shattered selves into whole ones.
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We efface an hour by passionate love, without twists, without aftertaste. When it is finished, it is not finished, we lie still in each other's arms lulled by our love, by tenderness -- sensuality in which the whole being can participate.
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The creative personality never remains fixed on the first world it discovers. It never resigns itself to anything.
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I have no brakes on...analysis is for those who are paralyzed by life.
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To mistake ugliness for reality is one of the frauds of the realistic school [of writing]. A hunger for the unknown and an aspiration toward beauty were inseparable from civilization. In America the word art was distorted to mean artificial.
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