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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.

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
Differently
Kiss
Kissing
Soon
Thought
Come
Must
Different

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It's so easy to make a person who hasn't got anything seem wrong.
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The woman had a humble, cringing manner. Of course, she had discovered that, having neither money nor virtue, she had better be humble if she knew what was good for her.
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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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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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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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If I was bound for hell, let it be hell. No more false heaven. No more damned magic.
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I found when I was a child that if I put the hurt into words, it would go.
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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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She’ll have no lover, for I don’t want her and she’ll see no other.
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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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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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When I think about it, if I had to choose, I'd rather be happy than write.
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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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I like shape very much. A novel has to have shape, and life doesn't have any.
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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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I want more of this feeling - fire and wings.
Jean Rhys
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Age seldom arrives smoothly or quickly. It's more often a succession of jerks.
Jean Rhys
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It is strange how sad it can be - sunlight in the afternoon, don't you think?
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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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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.
Jean Rhys