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The rumble of the life outside was like the sound of the sea which was rising gradually around her.

Jean Rhys

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Jean Rhys
Age: 88 †
Born: 1890
Born: August 24
Died: 1979
Died: May 14
Novelist
Writer
Ella Gwendolen Rees Williams
Ella Rees Williams
Life
Like
Rumble
Gradually
Rising
Sea
Outside
Sound
Around

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But they never last, the golden days. And it can be sad, the sun in the afternoon, can't it? Yes, it can be sad, the afternoon sun, sad and frightening.
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And then the days came when I was alone.
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There is no doubt that running away on a fresh, blue morning can be exhilarating.
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And what does anyone know about traitors, or why Judas did what he did?
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I am the only real truth I know.
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It was like letting go and falling back into water and seeing yourself grinning up through the water, your face like a mask, and seeing the bubbles coming up as if you were trying to speak from under the water. And how do you know what it's like to try to speak from under water when you're drowned?
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Of course she had some pathetic illusions about herself or she would not be able to go on living.
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It was the darkness that got you. It was heavy darkness, greasy and compelling. It made walls round you, and shut you in so that you felt like you could not breathe.
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Not that she objected to solitude. Quite the contrary. She had books, thank Heaven, quantities of books. All sorts of books.
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As it was in the beginning, ... is now, and ever shall be, world without end.
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I am sad, sad as a circus-lioness.
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I have arranged my little life.
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I like shape very much. A novel has to have shape, and life doesn't have any.
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What you take to be hyprocrisy is sometimes a certain caution, sometimes genuine, though ponderous, childish, sometimes a mixture of both.
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You can pretend for a long time, but one day it all falls away and you are alone. We are alone in the most beautiful place in the world.
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If I was bound for hell, let it be hell. No more false heaven. No more damned magic.
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It is strange how sad it can be - sunlight in the afternoon, don't you think?
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She haunted him, as an ungenerous action haunts one.
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Now I no longer wish to be loved, beautiful, happy or successful. I want one thing and one thing only - to be left alone.
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Next week, or next month, or next year I will kill myself. But I might as well last out my month's rent, which has been paid up.
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