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The period without the diary remains an ordeal. Every evening I want my diary as one wants opium.

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
Diaries
Evening
Period
Periods
Remains
Ordeal
Wants
Ordeals
Without
Opium
Every
Diary

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I want to make my own discoveries…….penetrate the evil which attracts me
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Ordinary life does not interest me.
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When we blindly adopt a religion, a political system, a literary dogma, we become automatons. We cease to grow.
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It is the function of art to renew our perception. What we are familiar with we cease to see. The writer shakes up the familiar scene, and, as if by magic, we see a new meaning in it.
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New York has an electronic heart.
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When I first met him, he did not care if a friend did not fit into his world, because at that time his world had not been born yet.
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Since desire always goes towards that which is our direct opposite, it forces us to love that which will make us suffer.
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Sexual intercourse... a joyous, joyous, joyous, joyous impaling of woman on man's sensual mast.
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What is love but acceptance of the other, whatever he is.
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The self is merely the lens through which we see others and the world.
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Things aren't the way they are, they're the way you are
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I sat there for three hours and did not feel the time or the boredom of our talk and its foolish disconnection. As long as I could hear his voice, I was quite lost, quite blind, quite outside my own self.
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Great repressions create dualities.
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The basis of insincerity is the idealized image we hold of ourselves and wish to impose on others.
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There were silences in my head. I could abandon myself completely to the pleasure of multiple relationships, to the beauty of the day, to the joys of the day. It was as if a cancer in me had ceased gnawing me. The cancer of introspection.
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But I lie. I embellish. My words are not deep enough. They disguise, they conceal. I will not rest until I have told of my descent into a sensuality which was as dark, as magnificent, as wild, as my moments of mystic creation have been dazzling, ecstatic, exalted.
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It is a sign of great inner insecurity to be hostile to the unfamiliar.
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You are the poet, you walk inside my dreams.
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I either eat too much or starve myself. Sleep for 14 hours or have insomniac nights. Fall in love very hard or hate passionately. I don't know what grey is. I never did.
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The risk it takes to remain tight inside the bud is more painful than the risk it takes to blossom. We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are.
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