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I believe that in judging our actions we are more severe than professional judges. We judge not only our actions, but our thoughts, our intentions, our secret curses, our hidden hate.

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
Action
Professional
Believe
Judge
Intention
Curses
Actions
Judges
Judging
Intentions
Thoughts
Severe
Secret
Hidden
Hate
Curse

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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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The softness of the summer day like an ermine paw.
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The suppression of inner patterns in favor of patterns created by society is dangerous to us.
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Poverty is the great reality. That is why the artist seeks it.
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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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Poetry, which is our relation to the senses, enables us to retain a living relationship to all things. It is the quickest means of transportation to reach dimensions above or beyond the traps set by the so-called realists. It is a way to learn levitation and travel in liberated continents, to travel by moonlight as well as sunlight.
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The bed must be a beautiful place, not only because you make love there but because you dream there as well.
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People living deeply have no fear of death.
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He was jealous of her future, and she of his past.
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The richest source of creation is feeling, followed by a vision of its meaning.
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Your strength is soft, indirect, delicate, tender, womanly. But it is strength just the same.
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If I love you it means we share the same fantasies, the same madnesses
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Convalescence. Such an utter weakness that you lie like an animal hibernating, playing possum. You float. You are adrift. Every current is stronger than you.
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All of my creation is an effort to weave a web of connection with the world: I am always weaving it because it was once broken.
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I was stirred only like a leaf in the wind, that is all. . .
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She lacks confidence, she craves admiration insatiably. She lives on the reflections of herself in the eyes of others. She does not dare to be herself.
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... and the very folds of the curtains contained secrets and sighs.
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Nothing endures unless it has first been transposed into a myth, and the great advantage of myths is that they are ladies with portable roots.
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Writing more and more to the sound of music, writing more and more like music. Sitting in my studio tonight, playing record after record, writing, music a stimulant of the highest order, far more potent than wine.
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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.
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