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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.

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
Men
Love
Life
Lack
Outside
Enemy
Woman
Never

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I sleep with my feet on moss carpets, my branches in the cotton of the clouds.
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The suppression of inner patterns in favor of patterns created by society is dangerous to us.
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Ordinary life does not interest me.
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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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In creation alone there is the possibility of perfection.
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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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I write emotional algebra.
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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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Luxury is not a necessity to me, but beautiful and good things are.
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In chaos, there is fertility.
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The richest source of creation is feeling, followed by a vision of its meaning.
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People who want a sane, static, measurable world take the first aspect of an event or person and stick to it, with an almost self-protective obstinacy, or by a natural limitation of their imaginations. They do not indulge in either deepening or magnifying.
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I am a winged creature who is too rarely allowed to use its wings. Ecstasies do not occur often enough.
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We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls.
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I am in great terror of your understanding by which you penetrate into my world and then I stand revealed and I have shared my kingdom with you.
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The body is an instrument which only gives off music when it is used as a body. Always an orchestra, and just as music traverses walls, so sensuality traverses the body and reaches up to ecstasy.
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When I don't write, I feel my world shrink. I lose my fire, my color.
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In New York the acoustics are good for laughter, for life is all external, all action, no thought, no meditation, no dreaming, no reflection, only the exuberance of action.
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Introspection is a devouring monster.
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Anxiety is love's greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic.
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