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Anais Nin Quotes - Page 11

All Quotes Acceptance Adventure Age Anxiety Art Attitude Balance Betrayal Blindness Break Up Business Change Chaos Character Children Confidence Courage Creation Creativity Crime Culture Curiosity Death Desire Destiny Dying Earth Effort Evil Failing Falling In Love Fate Fear Feelings Freedom Friendship Giving Gold Guilt Happiness Hate Heart Heartbreak Hunger Hurt Imagination Individuality Innocence Inspirational Inspiring Jazz Journey Joy Judging Kissing Knowledge Language Laughter Letting Go Life Love Lying Madness Magic Making Love Marriage Memories Motivational Moving On Music Myth Pain Passion Past Perfection Personality Positivity Poverty Prejudice Progress Reality Reflection Risk Romanticism Silence Sisterhood Sleep Solitude Soul Strength Struggle Submission Suffering Tragedy Travel Truth Ugliness Understanding Violence Virtue Vision Waiting Wall War Weakness Wife Wine Worship Writing

Our life is composed greatly from dreams, from the unconscious, and they must be brought into connection with action. They must be woven together.

Our life is composed greatly from dreams, from the unconscious, and they must be brought into connection with action. They must be woven together.

Love, Dream, Collective Unconscious

The man who was once starved may revenge himself upon the world not by stealing just once, or by stealing only what he needs, but by taking from the world an endless toll in payment of something irreplaceable, which is the lost faith.

Revenge, Men, Needs

You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living.

Believe, World, Picnics

"The Diary of Anais Nin: Vol. 1 (1931-1934)". Book by Anais Nin, 1969.

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.

Love, Life, Inspiring

Sexual intercourse... a joyous, joyous, joyous, joyous impaling of woman on man's sensual mast.

Men, Sensual, Joyous

[in the]..curious way that my idealism has been mixed with my fatalism, so that I can possess the soul of a dreamer and that of a cynic at the same time......I possess a power of magic...[to] destroy the balance of a well-designed destiny with my diabolical mind.

Destiny, Soul, Dreamer

Convalescence. Such an utter weakness that you lie like an animal hibernating, playing possum. You float. You are adrift. Every current is stronger than you.

Lying, Animal, Stronger

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.

Stars, Hair, Imagination

Beware of allowing a tactless word, a rebuttal, a rejection to obliterate the whole sky

Sky, Rejection, Rebuttal

No one was ever born without that light or flame of life. Some event, some person stifles or drowns it altogether. I was always tempted to resuscitate such men by my own joyousness or luminosity.When I break glasses in a night club, as the Russians do, when my unconscious breaks out in wild rebellions, it is against life which has crippled these idealistic, romantic men. I respect these men, cold, pure, faithful, devoted, moral, delicate, sensitive, and unequal to life, more than I respect the tough-minded ones who return three blows to one received, who kill those who hurt them.

Hurt, Blow, Night

The ivory tower of the artist may be the only stronghold left for human values, cultural treasures, man’s cult of beauty.

Artist, Men, Ivory Tower

A leaf fluttered in through the window this morning, as if supported by the rays of the sun, a bird settled on the fire escape, joy in the task of coffee, joy accompanied me as I walked.

Love, Good Morning, Peace

Perhaps a child, like a cat, is so much inside of himself that he does not see himself in the mirror.

Children, Cat, Mirrors

If I fall asleep, it is because I am overloaded. I sleep because one hour with Henry contains five years of my life, and one phrase, one caress answers the expectations of a hundred nights. When I hear him laugh, I say, "I have heard Rabelais.". And I swallow his laughter like bread and wine.

Laughter, Fall, Wine

I am lonely, yet not everybody will do. I don't know why, some people fill the gaps and others emphasize my loneliness. In reality those who satisfy me are those who simply allow me to live with my ''idea of them.

Lonely, Loneliness, Reality

It is the function of art to renew our perception. What we are familiar with we cease to see. The writer shakes up the familiar scene, and, as if by magic, we see a new meaning in it.

Inspirational, Life, Art

The love of only one man or one woman is an enclosure.

Men, Enclosure, One Woman

We are beginning to see the influence of dream upon reality and reality upon dream.

Dream, Reality, Influence

"The Novel of the Future". Book by Anais Nin, 1969.

We are going to the moon that is not very far. Man has so much farther to go within himself.

Moon, Men

I sleep with my feet on moss carpets, my branches in the cotton of the clouds.

Sleep, Clouds, Feet

We celebrate peace. Yet we pay no attention to the ways of curing aggression in human beings. And when one sees in psychoanalysis hostility disappearing as people conquer their fears, one wonders if the cure is not there.

People, Attention, Pay

If what Proust says is true, that happiness is the absence of fever, then I will never know happiness. For I am possessed by a fever for knowledge, experience, and creation.

Happiness, Knowledge, Fever

You are so terribly nimble, so clever. I distrust your cleverness. You make a wonderful pattern, everything is in its place, it looks convincingly clear, too clear. And meanwhile, where are you? Not on the clear surface of your ideas, but you have already sunk deeper, into darker regions, so that one only thinks one has been given all your thoughts, one only imagines you have emptied yourself in that clarity. But there are layers and layers - you're bottomless, unfathomable. Your clearness is deceptive. You are the thinker who arouses most confusion in me, most doubt, most disturbance.

Clever, Thinking, Ideas

"Henry and June". Book by Anais Nin, 1986.

Jazz is the music of the body. The breath comes through brass. It is the body's breath, and the strings' wails and moans are echoes of the body's music. It is the body's vibrations which ripple from the fingers. And the mystery of the withheld theme, known to jazz musicians alone, is like the mystery of our secret life. We give to others only peripheral improvisations.

Echoes, Giving, Secret

Why one writes is a question I can answer easily, having so often asked it of myself. I believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can live. I could not live in any of the worlds offered to me - the world of my parents, the world of war, the world of politics. I had to create a world of my own, like a climate, a country, an atmosphere in which I could breathe, reign, and recreate myself when destroyed by living. That, I believe, is the reason for every work of art.

Country, Art, War

"Woman as Writer" by Jeannette L. Webber and Joan Grumman, (p. 38), 1978.

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