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Of course I think of the past and of Paris, what else is there to remember?

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
Else
Past
Remember
Think
Thinking
Paris
Courses
Course

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Youth is cause, effect is age so with the thickening of the neck we get data.
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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.
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Sleep demands of us a guilty immunity.
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The unendurable is the beginning of the curve of joy.
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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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After all, it is not where one washes one's neck that counts but where one moistens one's throat.
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What is a ruin but time easing itself of endurance?
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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.
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I couldn't ever boil potatoes over the heat of your affection. Your love would never bridge a gap it wouldn't even fill up the hole that the mice came through.
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The night is a skin pulled over the head of day that the day may be in torment.
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Man is the only thing that has no further use after something goes amiss.
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There's something evil in me that loves evil and degradation--purity's black backside! That loves honesty with a horrid love or why have I always gone seeking it at the liar's door?
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Yes, we who are full to the gorge with misery should look well around, doubting everything seen, done, spoken, precisely because we have a word for it, and not its alchemy
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One's life is peculiar to one's own when one has invented it.
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We are adhering to life now with our last muscle - the heart.
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When one wants to become cognizant of the color and the texture of the soil, one does not get a ladder one gets a shovel. When one wants to get into touch with the texture of the universal mind, one does not go to Boston one goes to the Bowery.
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To think is to be sick.
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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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The priceless galaxy of misinformation called the mind.
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I have been loved,' she said, 'by something strange, and it has forgotten me.
Djuna Barnes