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He understands my pity for his ridiculous, humiliating physical necessity.
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
Ridiculous
Physical
Humiliating
Understands
Necessity
Pity
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You live out the confusions until they become clear.
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Stories are the only enchantment possible, for when we begin to see our suffering as a story, we are saved.
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Life is a full circle, widening until it joins the circle motions of the infinite.
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We don't see things as they are, we see them as we ... believe me naïve or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.
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I do not want to be the leader. I refuse to be the leader. I want to live darkly.
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Expressing feelings is linked directly with creation... In this ability to tap the sources of feeling and imagination lies the secret of abundance.
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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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I reserve the right to love many different people at once, and to change my prince often.
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My life is slowed up by thought and the need to understand what I am living.
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I’m restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again.
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Only when the poet and the scientist work in unison will we have living experiences and knowledge of the marvels of the universe as they are being discovered.
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Tropical nights are hammocks for lovers.
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Perhaps a child, like a cat, is so much inside of himself that he does not see himself in the mirror.
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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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My diary seems to keep me whole.
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Adolescence is like cactus.
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If you can't create, you destroy.
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I don't hear your words: your voice reverberates against my body like another kind of caress, another kind of penetration. I have no power over your voice. It comes straight from you into me. I could stuff my ears and it would find its way into my blood and make it rise.
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One may gain one truth at the expense of another.
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The child who is uprooted begins to recognize that what he builds within himself is what will endure, what will withstand shattering experiences.
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