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I have been loved,' she said, 'by something strange, and it has forgotten me.

Djuna Barnes

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Djuna Barnes
Age: 90 †
Born: 1892
Born: June 12
Died: 1982
Died: June 18
Journalist
Novelist
Playwright
Poet
Writer
Cornwall on Hudson
New York
Lydia Steptoe
Strange
Loved
Something
Forgotten

More quotes by Djuna Barnes

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After all, it is not where one washes one's neck that counts but where one moistens one's throat.
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Life is painful, nasty and short.. in my case it has only been painful and nasty.
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I've seen death and I didn't like it.
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For most people, life is nasty, brutish, and short for me, it has simply been nasty and brutish.
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Suffering for love is how I have learned practically everything I know, love of grandmother up and on.
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Of course I think of the past and of Paris, what else is there to remember?
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A man's sorrow runs uphill true it is difficult for him to bear, but it is also difficult for him to keep.
Djuna Barnes
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Una's face was an unbroken block of calculation, saving where, upon her upper lip, a little down of hair fluttered. Yet it gave one an uncanny feeling. It made one think of a tassel on a hammer.
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Sleep demands of us a guilty immunity.
Djuna Barnes
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One must not look inward too much, while the inside is yet tender. I do not wish to frighten myself until I can stand it.
Djuna Barnes
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We are beginning to wonder whether a servant girl hasn't the best of it after all. She knows how the salad tastes without the dressing, and she knows how life's lived before it gets to the parlor door.
Djuna Barnes
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One's life is peculiar to one's own when one has invented it.
Djuna Barnes
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The unendurable is the beginning of the curve of joy.
Djuna Barnes
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Love is the first lie wisdom the last.
Djuna Barnes
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Time is a great conference planning our end, and youth is only the past putting a leg forward.
Djuna Barnes
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We are adhering to life now with our last muscle - the heart.
Djuna Barnes
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The heart of the jealous knows the best and most satisfying love, that of the other's bed, where the rival perfects the lover's imperfections.
Djuna Barnes
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I'm a fart in a gale of wind, a humble violet under a cow pat.
Djuna Barnes
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What is a ruin but time easing itself of endurance?
Djuna Barnes
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And must I, perchance, like careful writers, guard myself against the conclusions of my readers?
Djuna Barnes