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The Frenchman, by nature, is sensuous and sensitive. He has intelligence, which makes him tired of life sooner than other kinds of men. He is not athletic: he sees the futility of the pursuit of fame the climate at times depresses him.

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
Kind
Kinds
Futility
Men
Climate
Athletic
Life
Intelligence
Depressing
Tired
Sooner
Fame
Sensitive
Depresses
Times
France
Frenchman
Makes
Sees
Frenchmen
Nature
Pursuit
Sensuous

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In creation alone there is the possibility of perfection.
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For the neurotic, the merging of the subconscious and the conscious may be risky, just as it is for the users of drugs. But for the writer who is aware of the way in which this connection exists in reality and nourishes creativity, the sooner he can achieve a synthesis among intellect, emotion, and instinct, the sooner his work will be integrated.
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I believe the lasting revolution comes from deep changes in ourselves which influence our collective life.
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We are cruel when someone refuses to play the role in which we have cast him. We judge a person only according to his relationship towards us.
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Stations and airports are rehearsals for separations by death.
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Shame is the lie someone told you about yourself.
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Sometimes I think of Paris not as a city but as a home.
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When I don't write, I feel my world shrinking. I feel I am in a prison. I feel I lose my fire and my color. It should be a necessity, as the sea needs to heave, and I call it breathing.
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I needed to live, but I also needed to record what I lived.
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I miss the animal buoyancy of New York, the animal vitality. I did not mind that it had no meaning and no depth.
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Coming near him like a ballet dancer she took a leap towards him, and he, frightened by her vehemence, and fearing that she would crash against him, instinctively became absolutely rigid, and she felt herself embracing a statue.
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Pain is something to master, not to wallow in.
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Create a world, your world. Alone. Stand alone. And then love will come to you, then it comes to you.
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I don't hear your words: your voice reverberates against my body like another kind of caress, another kind of penetration. I have no power over your voice. It comes straight from you into me. I could stuff my ears and it would find its way into my blood and make it rise.
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I write emotional algebra.
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Analysis does not take into account the creative products of neurotic desires.
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I want to make my own discoveries…….penetrate the evil which attracts me
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I am like a snake who has already bitten. I retreat from a direct battle while knowing the slow effect of the poison.
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To love and to labor is the sum of living.
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I see enormous loves growing immense and finally crushing me.
Anais Nin