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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
Afternoon
Strange
Think
Thinking
Sunlight

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When he talked his eyes went away from mine and then he forced himself to look straight at me and he began to explain and I knew that he felt very strange with me and that he hated me, and it was funny sitting there and talking like that, knowing he hated me.
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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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There is no doubt that running away on a fresh, blue morning can be exhilarating.
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Quite like old times,' the room says.
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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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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 watched her die many times. In my way, not in hers. In sunlight, in shadow, by moonlight, by candlelight. In the long afternoons when the house was empty. Only the sun was there to keep us company. We shut him out. And why not? Very soon she was as eager for what's called loving as I was - more lost and drowned afterwards.
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All of a writer that matters is in the book or books. It is idiotic to be curious about the person.
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The feeling of Sunday is the same everywhere, heavy, melancholy, standing still.
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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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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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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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I am sad, sad as a circus-lioness.
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No past to make us sentimental, no future to embarrass us...a difficult moment when you are out of practice - a moment that makes you go cold, cold and wary.
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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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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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I have arranged my little life.
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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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I sit at my window and the words fly past me like birds — with God's help I catch some.
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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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