When I am happy it is so rare. I need to dwell on it, to contemplate it. What a hunger, a craving for beautiful things. — Anaïs Nin, Nearer the Moon: The Previously Unpublished Unexpurgated Diary, 1937-1939. (Harcourt; 1st edition, November 1996)
I am always between two worlds, always in conflict. I would like sometimes to rest, to be at peace, to choose a nook, make a final choice, but I can’t. Some nameless, undescribable fear and anxiety keeps me on the move. On certain evenings like this, I would like to feel whole. Only a half… Continue reading Anaïs Nin
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’m awaiting a lover. I have to be rent and pulled apart and live according to the demons and the imagination in me. I’m restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again. ― Anaïs Nin, Fire: From A Journal of Love – The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin.… Continue reading Anaïs Nin
The dreaming gives anxiety because it is lonely, ghostly, evanescent, unstable, fluid, but above all because it is lonely. No dream is shared. Reality is shared. People’s dreams can be similar but they do not create a human relationship by themselves. — Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 3: 1939-1944. (Mariner Books March… Continue reading Anaïs Nin
In you alone I have found the same swelling of enthusiasm, the same quick rising of the blood, the fullness… Before, I almost used to think there was something wrong. Everybody else seemed to have the brakes on… I never feel the brakes. I overflow. And when I feel your excitement about life flaring, next… 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