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And what does anyone know about traitors, or why Judas did what he did?

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
Traitors
Judas
Traitor
Betrayal
Anyone
Doe

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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.
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The rumble of the life outside was like the sound of the sea which was rising gradually around her.
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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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I have arranged my little life.
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Human beings are struggling, and so they are egoists. But it's wrong to say that they are wholy cruel - it's a deformed view.
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As it was in the beginning, ... is now, and ever shall be, world without end.
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The musty smell, the bugs, the lonliness, this room, which is part of the street outside-this is all I want from life.
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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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Soon he'll come in again and kiss me, but differently. He'll be different and so I'll be different. It'll be different. I thought, 'It'll be different, different. It must be different.
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...I know all about myself now, I know. You've told me so often. You haven't left me one rag of illusion to clothe myself in.
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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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When I think about it, if I had to choose, I'd rather be happy than write.
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The woman had a humble, cringing manner. Of course, she had discovered that, having neither money nor virtue, she had better be humble if she knew what was good for her.
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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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Your red dress,’ she said, and laughed. But I looked at the dress on the floor and it was as if the fire had spread across the room. It was beautiful and it reminded me of something I must do. I will remember I thought. I will remember quite soon now.
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Cold - cold as truth, cold as life. No, nothing can be as cold as life.
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I found when I was a child that if I put the hurt into words, it would go.
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She could give herself up to the written word as naturally as a good dancer to music or a fine swimmer to water. The only difficulty was that after finishing the last sentence she was left with a feeling at once hollow and uncomfortably full. Exactly like indigestion.
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