Quote

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.

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
Always
Happened
Hide
Chance
Breathe
Easy
Sky
Place
Blue
Light
Air
Wells
Soon
Crept
Well
Tomorrow
Skies
Sometimes
Fine
Slightest

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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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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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We can't all be happy, we can't all be rich, we can't all be lucky - and it would be so much less fun if we were... There must be the dark background to show up the bright colours.
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It's so easy to make a person who hasn't got anything seem wrong.
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And then the days came when I was alone.
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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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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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Only the magic and the dream are true — all the rest's a lie.
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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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I am the only real truth I know.
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I am sad, sad as a circus-lioness.
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I have arranged my little life.
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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.
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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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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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Even the one moment that you thought was your eternity fades out and is forgotten and dies.
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Age seldom arrives smoothly or quickly. It's more often a succession of jerks.
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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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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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