Quotes from Anais Nin

Tu te îndr?gosteÈ™ti de minÈ›ile oamenilor.

I know my defects. I don't need you to take that stand-offish and unsympathetic tone. I get enough of that from the men who can't bully me into loving them, or obeying them

Em homeopatia há um remédio chamado pulsatila para aqueles que choram com a música.

She only believed in intimacy and proximity, in confessions born in the darkness of a bedroom, in quarrels born of alcohol, in communions born of exhausting walks through the city. She only believed in those words which came like the confessions of criminals after long exposure to hunger, to intense lights, to cross-questioning, to violent tearing away of masks.

Eu iubesc, iubesc, iubesc.

I had a sense of preparation for a love to come. Like the extension of canopies, the unrolling of ceremonial carpets, as if I must first create a marvelous world in which to house it, in which to receive adequately this guest of honor.

What does is mean that you have not written me?... Am I a dream to you, am I not real and warm for you? What new loves, new ecstasies, new impulses move you now?

El lujo no es para mí una necesidad, pero las cosas hermosas y buenas sí.

I think sometimes that I must live a great part of my life in a trance, or in some sort of anesthetic state.

Why go to Tahiti or Bali? Only sad, defeated people do that.

What I corrupted is what is called the truth in favour of a more marvellous world.

Point was that Poe's mother died of consumption when he was 3. He sought the image of her in several other women, including the consumption, the lingering death etc. The dying women haunt his work, dominate it (perhaps as cruel women have haunted and dominated you). Dying women arrested the living flow of his sensuality. His sensuality became necrophilic. Et puis après?

Why has she loved ships so deeply, why has she always wanted to sail away from this world? Why has she always dreamed of flight, of departure?

I care about everything. Emotionalism and sensibility are my quicksands.

She has to make the atmosphere boil.

Pero era un sueño. Estábamos envueltos en algodón, en hilos de seda, en telas de araña, en musgo, en niebla, en el mar, en el sabor de una distancia que ha de aniquilarse-

Viajamos en direcciones opuestas. Observo todo esto en tono trágico.

There is a fantastic courage in this, to live without laws, without fetters, without thought of consequences.

He placed his mouth on her throat, kissing the words she could not utter. He seemed to divine where she wanted a kiss to fall next, what part of her body demanded to be warmed.

Although I was so big, and so rough in many ways, loved hunting, fighting, horseback riding, I loved the piano above everything else...The mountain man's obsession is to get a glimpse of the sea.

Sometimes she answered, 'My mouth wants you, I want to feel you in my mouth, way down in my mouth.' Other times she answered, 'I am moist between the legs.

I am angry at my own sentimental weakness. I feel at certain moments a bottomless giving, an indifference to how much is taken away, but at times I have rebellions and my possessive instinct is aroused and then I am angry at myself, furious (the scorpion eats it own tail).

He is dissecting poetry. It has become a cadaver.

Unamuno says: "The prehistoric is unconsciousness; it is the void." (This of course is literature, but it sounds convincing.) Nobody knows anything about the prehistoric!