I have the gift of desiring, of inventing more and more desires, of never knowing satiation and dullness. And I am cursed with the lack of genius for renunciation. — Anaïs Nin, Linotte: The Early Diary of Anaïs Nin (1914-1920) (Mariner Books; 1st Harvest/HBJ Ed edition March 10, 1980) Originally published 1978.
I love her for what she has dared to be, for her hardness, her cruelty, her egoism, her perverseness, her demoniac destructiveness. She would crush me to ashes without hesitation. She is a personality created to the limit. I worship her courage to hurt, and I am willing to be sacrificed to it. She will… Continue reading Anaïs Nin
All the beauty I thought lost in the world is in you and around you. When I am near you I no longer feel my being contracting and shriveling. This terrible fatigue which consumes me is lifted. This fatigue I feel when I am not with you is so enormous that it is like what… Continue reading Anaïs Nin
All the beauty I thought lost in the world is in you and around you. When I am near you I no longer feel my being contracting and shriveling. This terrible fatigue which consumes me is lifted. This fatigue I feel when I am not with you is so enormous that it is like what… Continue reading Anaïs Nin
Moonlight fell directly over her bed in the summer. She lay naked in it for hours before falling asleep, wondering what its rays would do to her skin, her hair, her eyes, and then deeper, to her feelings. […] It accentuated her love of mystery. She meditated on this planet which kept a half of… Continue reading Anaïs Nin
We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers,… Continue reading Anaïs Nin
Your voice reverberated against my body like another kind of caress, another kind of penetration. — Anaïs Nin, A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin & Henry Miller, 1932-1953. (Mariner Books; 1 edition (pril 22, 1989) Originally published 1965.
Everything with me is either worship and passion or pity and understanding. I hate rarely, though when I hate, I hate murderously…but I am more preoccupied with loving. — Anaïs Nin, Henry and June: From “A Journal of Love,” The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin. (Harvest Books; 1 edition October 29, 1990) Originally published 1986.
I love your silences, they are like mine. You are the only being before whom I am not distressed by my own silences. You have a vehement silence, one feels it is charged with essences, it is a strangely alive silence, like a trap open over a well, from which one can hear the secret… Continue reading Anaïs Nin
I have heard the beast pound in the breath of a bird and felt in its feathers the fire. I have hated with passion the gathering herd and the weight of its common desire Ah, but no rest for weary terrestrial wings in beating oppressive air they long for the strength of celestial things like… Continue reading Anaïs Nin
The Vale of Soul-Making 