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As it was in the beginning, ... is now, and ever shall be, world without end.

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
Shall
Ends
Ever
Without
World
Beginning

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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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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's so easy to make a person who hasn't got anything seem wrong.
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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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And then the days came when I was alone.
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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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The feeling of Sunday is the same everywhere, heavy, melancholy, standing still.
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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.
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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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Even the one moment that you thought was your eternity fades out and is forgotten and dies.
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Your red dress,’ she said, and laughed. But I looked at the dress on the floor and it was as if the fire had spread across the room. It was beautiful and it reminded me of something I must do. I will remember I thought. I will remember quite soon now.
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that expression you get in your eyes when you are very tired and everything is like a dream and you are starting to know what things are like underneath what people say they are.
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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.
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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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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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It is strange how sad it can be - sunlight in the afternoon, don't you think?
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She haunted him, as an ungenerous action haunts one.
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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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I found when I was a child that if I put the hurt into words, it would go.
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I am sad, sad as a circus-lioness.
Jean Rhys