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Stephan was secretive and a liar, but he was a very gentle and expert lover. She was the petted, cherished child, the desired mistress, the worshipped, perfumed goddess. She was all these things to Stephan - or so he made her believe.

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
Believe
Liars
Worshipped
Things
Lover
Secretive
Experts
Cherished
Gentle
Desired
Lovers
Liar
Child
Expert
Children
Mistress
Petted
Made
Goddess
Perfumed

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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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I have arranged my little life.
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I am sad, sad as a circus-lioness.
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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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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 haunted him, as an ungenerous action haunts one.
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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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Quite like old times,' the room says.
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Human beings are struggling, and so they are egoists. But it's wrong to say that they are wholy cruel - it's a deformed view.
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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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Even the one moment that you thought was your eternity fades out and is forgotten and dies.
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Cold - cold as truth, cold as life. No, nothing can be as cold as life.
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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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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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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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As it was in the beginning, ... is now, and ever shall be, world without end.
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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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