Quote

I walked into my own book, seeking peace. It was night, and I made a careless movement inside the dream I turned too brusquely the corner and I bruised myself against my madness.

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
Movement
Careless
Peace
Walked
Night
Corner
Dream
Corners
Book
Madness
Made
Seeking
Turned
Inside
Bruised

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When you make a world tolerable for yourself, you make a world tolerable for others.
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Great repressions create dualities.
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Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through.
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Your strength is soft, indirect, delicate, tender, womanly. But it is strength just the same.
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The way to recognize a dead word is that it exudes boredom.
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One must be thrust out of a finished cycle in life, and that leap is the most difficult to make - to part with one's faith, one's love, when one would prefer to renew the faith and recreate the passion.
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Something is always born of excess: great art was born of great terror, great loneliness, great inhibitions, instabilities, and it always balances them.
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In music I feel most deeply the passing of things.
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Don't let one cloud obliterate the whole sky.
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America hates the artist. It will not admit: the artist is my soul and I want to kill off my soul.
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We see things the way we are, not the way they are.
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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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The important task of literature is to free man, not to censor him, and that is why Puritanism was the most destructive and evil force which ever oppressed people and their literature: it created hypocrisy, perversion, fears, sterility.
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If I love you it means we share the same fantasies, the same madnesses
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I had been struck by the analogy between neurosis and romanticism. Romanticism was truly a parallel to neurosis. It demanded of reality an illusory world, love, an absolute which it could never obtain, and thus destroyed itself by the dream.
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notes fly so much farther than words. There is no other way to reach the infinite.
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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 have no fear of God, and yet fear keeps me awake at night,fear of the devil. And if I believe in the devil, I must believe in God. And if evil is abhorrent to me, I must be a saint. Henry, save me from beatification, from the horrors of static perfection. Precipitate me into the inferno.
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We are all engaged in the task of peeling off the false selves, the programmed selves, the selves created by our families, our culture, our religions. It is an enormous task because the history of women has been as incompletely told as the history of blacks.
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I know no joy as great as a moment of rushing into a new love, no ecstasy like that of a new love.
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