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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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And then the days came when I was alone.
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Only the magic and the dream are true — all the rest's a lie.
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Cold - cold as truth, cold as life. No, nothing can be as cold as life.
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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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When I think about it, if I had to choose, I'd rather be happy than write.
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I want more of this feeling - fire and wings.
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I must write. If I stop writing my life will have been an abject failure. It is that already to other people. But it could be an abject failure to myself. I will not have earned death.
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It's so easy to make a person who hasn't got anything seem wrong.
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I have arranged my little life.
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I've been so ridiculous all my life that a little bit more or a little bit less hardly matters now.
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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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Even the one moment that you thought was your eternity fades out and is forgotten and dies.
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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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The feeling of Sunday is the same everywhere, heavy, melancholy, standing still.
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Quite like old times,' the room says.
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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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Stephan was secretive and a liar, but he was a very gentle and expert lover. She was the petted, cherished child, the desired mistress, the worshipped, perfumed goddess. She was all these things to Stephan - or so he made her believe.
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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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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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I am sad, sad as a circus-lioness.
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