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The morning I got up to begin this book I coughed. Something was coming out of my throat: it was strangling me. I broke the thread which held it and yanked it out. I went back to bed and said: I have just spat out my heart.
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
Heart
Held
Coughed
Something
Bed
Yanked
Begin
Spat
Coming
Spats
Went
Strangling
Morning
Thread
Back
Throat
Book
Broke
More quotes by Anais Nin
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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I am aware of being in a beautiful prison, from which I can only escape by writing.
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The fiery moments of passionate experience are the moments of wholeness and totality of the personality.
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If you are terribly truthful, the ground will always move from under you, and you will have to shift with the constantly shifting truth.
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Where the myth fails, human love begins. Then we love a human being, not our dream, but a human being with flaws.
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My life is not possible to tell. I change every day, change my patterns, my concepts, my interpretations. I am a series of moods and sensations. I play a thousand roles. I weep when I find others play them for me. My real self is unknown. My work is merely an essence of this vast and deep adventure.
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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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Then at certain moments I remember one of his words and I suddenly feel the sensual woman flaring up, as if violently caressed. I say the word to myself, with joy. It is at such a moment that my true body lives.
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He has, like me, a sense of smell. I let him inhale me, then I slip away.
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I don't wish power, only art -art and passion.
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Secrets. Need to disguise. The novel was born of this.
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A man fell in love with Jeanne, and she tried to love him. But she complained that he uttered such ordinary words, that he could never say the magic phrase which would open her being.
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I will not be just a tourist in a world of images.
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Those who cannot live fully often become destroyers of life.
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The creative personality never remains fixed on the first world it discovers. It never resigns itself to anything.
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Death from disillusion is not instantaneous, and there are no mercy killers for the disillusioned.
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What I cannot love, I overlook. Is that real friendship?
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The core of creation is to summon an image and the power to work with the image.
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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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