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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
Afternoon
Golden
Sun
Days
Lasts
Last
Never
Frightening
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She haunted him, as an ungenerous action haunts one.
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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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If I was bound for hell, let it be hell. No more false heaven. No more damned magic.
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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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There is no doubt that running away on a fresh, blue morning can be exhilarating.
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And then the days came when I was alone.
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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 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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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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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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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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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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I hadn't bargained for this. I didn't think it would be like this - shabby clothes, worn-out shoes, circles under your eyes, your hair getting straight and lanky, the way people look at you. ... I didn't think it would be like this
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It's so easy to make a person who hasn't got anything seem wrong.
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The feeling of Sunday is the same everywhere, heavy, melancholy, standing still.
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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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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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The rumble of the life outside was like the sound of the sea which was rising gradually around 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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