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It is strange how sad it can be - sunlight in the afternoon, don't you think?

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
Strange
Think
Thinking
Sunlight
Afternoon

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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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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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And what does anyone know about traitors, or why Judas did what he did?
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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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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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Only the magic and the dream are true — all the rest's a lie.
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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.
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I am the only real truth I know.
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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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Quite like old times,' the room says.
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She haunted him, as an ungenerous action haunts one.
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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 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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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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The feeling of Sunday is the same everywhere, heavy, melancholy, standing still.
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Of course she had some pathetic illusions about herself or she would not be able to go on living.
Jean Rhys
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It's so easy to make a person who hasn't got anything seem wrong.
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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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She’ll have no lover, for I don’t want her and she’ll see no other.
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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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