Quote

although I love a rich life, I hate an overcrowded life. I believe in rumination and lose half the beauty of all things when I am deprived of the time to ruminate.

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
Overcrowded
Half
Deprived
Hate
Believe
Leisure
Things
Although
Time
Lose
Love
Loses
Ruminate
Life
Rich
Rumination
Beauty

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We love best those who are, or act for us, a self we do not wish to be or act out.
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The poet is one who is able to keep the fresh vision of the child alive.
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I walk ahead of myself in perpetual expectancy of miracles.
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The period without the diary remains an ordeal. Every evening I want my diary as one wants opium.
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I write emotional algebra.
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it was while helping others to be free that I gained my own freedom.
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Something is always born of excess: great art was born of great terror, great loneliness, great inhibitions, instabilities, and it always balances them.
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A war regarded as inevitable or even probable, and therefore much prepared for, has a very good chance of eventually being fought.
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Your strength is soft, indirect, delicate, tender, womanly. But it is strength just the same.
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the best way to remember a beautiful city or a beautiful painting is to eat something while you are looking at it. The flavor really helps the image to penetrate the body. It fixes it as lacquer does a drawing.
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The obstacle became his alibi for weakness.
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Our culture made a virtue of living only as extroverts. We discouraged the inner journey, the quest for a center. So we lost our center and have to find it again.
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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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The bed must be a beautiful place, not only because you make love there but because you dream there as well.
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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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Guilt is the one burden human beings can't bear alone.
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What is love but acceptance of the other, whatever he is.
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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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Mature people relate to each other without the need to merge.
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