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Even the one moment that you thought was your eternity fades out and is forgotten and dies.

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
Thought
Even
Fades
Forgotten
Eternity
Dies
Moment
Moments

More quotes by Jean Rhys

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And then the days came when I was alone.
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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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I am sad, sad as a circus-lioness.
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It's so easy to make a person who hasn't got anything seem wrong.
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Quite like old times,' the room says.
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Life if curious when reduced to its essentials
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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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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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She haunted him, as an ungenerous action haunts one.
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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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I sit at my window and the words fly past me like birds — with God's help I catch some.
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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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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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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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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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When I think about it, if I had to choose, I'd rather be happy than write.
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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 found when I was a child that if I put the hurt into words, it would go.
Jean Rhys