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He had discovered that people who allow themselves to be blown about by the winds of emotion and impulse are always unhappy people.

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
Wind
Emotion
Always
Blown
People
Winds
Impulse
Discovered
Unhappy
Allow

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Age seldom arrives smoothly or quickly. It's more often a succession of jerks.
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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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She haunted him, as an ungenerous action haunts one.
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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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that expression you get in your eyes when you are very tired and everything is like a dream and you are starting to know what things are like underneath what people say they are.
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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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If I was bound for hell, let it be hell. No more false heaven. No more damned magic.
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There is no doubt that running away on a fresh, blue morning can be exhilarating.
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She’ll have no lover, for I don’t want her and she’ll see no other.
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Life if curious when reduced to its essentials
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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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The feeling of Sunday is the same everywhere, heavy, melancholy, standing still.
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before I could read, almost a baby, I imagined that God, this strange thing or person I heard about, was a book.
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Quite like old times,' the room says.
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One realized all sorts of things. The value of an illusion, for instance, and that the shadow can be more important than the substance. All sorts of things.
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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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Love was a terrible thing. You poisoned it and stabbed at it and knocked it down into the mud - well down - and it got up and staggered on, bleeding and muddy and awful. Like - like Rasputin.
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Even the one moment that you thought was your eternity fades out and is forgotten and dies.
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She had left me thirsty and all my life would be thirst and longing for what I had lost before I found it.
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