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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.

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
Never
Frightening
Afternoon
Golden
Sun
Days
Lasts
Last

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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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I found when I was a child that if I put the hurt into words, it would go.
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There is no doubt that running away on a fresh, blue morning can be exhilarating.
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She haunted him, as an ungenerous action haunts one.
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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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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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Of course she had some pathetic illusions about herself or she would not be able to go on living.
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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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When I think about it, if I had to choose, I'd rather be happy than write.
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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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Cold - cold as truth, cold as life. No, nothing can be as cold as life.
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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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I didn't know, I didn't know, I didn't know.
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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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It's so easy to make a person who hasn't got anything seem wrong.
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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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After all this, what happened? What happened was that, as soon as I had the slightest chance of a place to hide in, I crept into it and hid. Well, sometimes it's a fine day isn't it? Sometimes the skies are blue. Sometimes the air is light, easy to breathe. And there is always tomorrow.
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And what does anyone know about traitors, or why Judas did what he did?
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When you are a child you are yourself and you know and see everything prophetically. And then suddenly something happens and you stop being yourself you become what others force you to be. You lose your wisdom and your soul.
Jean Rhys
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Even the one moment that you thought was your eternity fades out and is forgotten and dies.
Jean Rhys