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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.

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
Read
Persons
Person
Book
Imagined
Thing
Baby
Strange
Heard
Almost

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I have arranged my little life.
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There are always two deaths, the real one and the one people know about.
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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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Even the one moment that you thought was your eternity fades out and is forgotten and dies.
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Quite like old times,' the room says.
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She haunted him, as an ungenerous action haunts one.
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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.
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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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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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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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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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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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And then the days came when I was alone.
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It's so easy to make a person who hasn't got anything seem wrong.
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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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And what does anyone know about traitors, or why Judas did what he did?
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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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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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...I know all about myself now, I know. You've told me so often. You haven't left me one rag of illusion to clothe myself in.
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