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Stories are the only enchantment possible, for when we begin to see our suffering as a story, we are saved.

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
Possible
Suffering
Story
Stories
Enchantment
Saved
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I will always be the virgin-prostitute, the perverse angel, the two-faced sinister and saintly woman.
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One always, sooner or later, comes upon a city which is an image of one's inner cities. Fez is an image of my inner self. ... The layers of the city of Fez are like the layers and secrecies of the inner life. One needs a guide. ... There were in Fez, as in my life, streets which led nowhere, impasses which remained a mystery.
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When one is pretending the entire body revolts.
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You can either give negativity power over your life or you can choose happiness instead.
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The ivory tower of the artist may be the only stronghold left for human values, cultural treasures, man’s cult of beauty.
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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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The two men who have done the greatest harm to the world are Christ and Columbus. Christ taught us guilt and sacrifice, to live only in the other world, and Columbus discovered America and materialism.
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My diary seems to keep me whole.
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I love your silences, they are like mine.
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I don't wish power, only art -art and passion.
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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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There are books which we read early in life, which sink into our consciousness and seem to disappear without leaving a trace. And then one day we find, in some summing-up of our life and put attitudes towards experience, that their influence has been enormous.
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It is a sign of great inner insecurity to be hostile to the unfamiliar.
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We did not touch each other. We were both leaning over the abyss.
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Jazz is the music of the body.
Anais Nin
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perhaps the only magician we have is the artist.
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The way to recognize a dead word is that it exudes boredom.
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We do not see the world as it is. We see the word as we are.
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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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