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What a mystery this is, desire. The love sickness, the sensitivity, the obsession, the flutter of the heart, the ebb and flow of the blood. There is no drug and no alcohol to equal it.

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
Blood
Sensitivity
Desire
Sickness
Heart
Obsession
Love
Alcohol
Flow
Drug
Mystery
Equal
Flutter

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It is easy to love and there are so many ways to do it.
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Not afraid of poverty and drabness and who is untouched by it, untouched by the drunkenness of her friends (she) who judges, selects, discards people with severity, who knows, when she is telling her endless anecdotes, that they are ways of escape, keeping herself all the more secret behind that profuse talk.
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myself ... is merely an instrument to connect life and a myth
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I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go.
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Our life is composed greatly from dreams, from the unconscious, and they must be brought into connection with action. They must be woven together.
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To love and to labor is the sum of living.
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Art is the method of levitation, in order to separate one's self from enslavement by the earth.
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Self-destructive patterns cause as much suffering as outer catastrophes.
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I really believe that if I were not a writer, not a creator, not an experimenter, I might have been a very faithful wife. I think highly of faithfulness. But my temperament belongs to the writer, not to the woman
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Your strength is soft, indirect, delicate, tender, womanly. But it is strength just the same.
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Nowhere is inhumanity more revealed than in hospitals.
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You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living.
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To lie, of course, is to engender insanity.
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Nothing too long imagined can be perfect in a wordly way.
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I cheat him, I deceive him, yet the world does not sink in sulphur-colored mists. Madness conquers. I can no longer put my mosaics together. I just cry and laugh.
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The complaints of the child in us will never cease lamenting until it is consoled, answered, understood. Only then will it lie still in us, like our fears. It will die in peace and leave us what the child leaves to the man - the sense of wonder.
Anais Nin
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Now that I am moving, I am afraid. Where am I going?
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All those who try to unveil the mysteries always have tragic lives. At the end they are always punished.
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I disregard the proportions, the measures, the tempo of the ordinary world. I refuse to live in the ordinary world as ordinary women. To enter ordinary relationships. I want ecstasy. I am a neurotic — in the sense that I live in my world. I will not adjust myself to the world. I am adjusted to myself.
Anais Nin
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Death from disillusion is not instantaneous, and there are no mercy killers for the disillusioned.
Anais Nin