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There is no doubt that running away on a fresh, blue morning can be exhilarating.

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
Doubt
Morning
Running
Away
Exhilarating
Fresh
Adventure
Blue

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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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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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If I was bound for hell, let it be hell. No more false heaven. No more damned magic.
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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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The rumble of the life outside was like the sound of the sea which was rising gradually around her.
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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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Next week, or next month, or next year I will kill myself. But I might as well last out my month's rent, which has been paid up.
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I am the only real truth I know.
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She had left me thirsty and all my life would be thirst and longing for what I had lost before I found it.
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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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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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I hadn't bargained for this. I didn't think it would be like this - shabby clothes, worn-out shoes, circles under your eyes, your hair getting straight and lanky, the way people look at you. ... I didn't think it would be like this
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And then the days came when I was alone.
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The feeling of Sunday is the same everywhere, heavy, melancholy, standing still.
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One realized all sorts of things. The value of an illusion, for instance, and that the shadow can be more important than the substance. All sorts of things.
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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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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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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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I've been so ridiculous all my life that a little bit more or a little bit less hardly matters now.
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