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She’ll have no lover, for I don’t want her and she’ll see no other.

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
Lover
Lovers

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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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I didn't know, I didn't know, I didn't know.
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All of writing is a huge lake. There are great rivers that feed the lake, like Tolstoy or Dostoyevsky. And then there are mere trickles, like Jean Rhys. All that matters is feeding the lake. I don't matter. The lake matters. You must keep feeding the lake.
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Quite like old times,' the room says.
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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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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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There is no doubt that running away on a fresh, blue morning can be exhilarating.
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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.
Jean Rhys
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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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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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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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Age seldom arrives smoothly or quickly. It's more often a succession of jerks.
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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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And what does anyone know about traitors, or why Judas did what he did?
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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.
Jean Rhys
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I have arranged my little life.
Jean Rhys
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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.
Jean Rhys
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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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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