Anais Nin

Anais Nin

Anaïs Nin (February 21, 1903 – January 14, 1977) was an essayist and memoirist born to Cuban parents in France, where she was also raised. She wrote journals, novels, critical studies, essays, short stories, and erotica. A great deal of her work, including Delta of Venus and Little Birds, was published posthumously.

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She lacks confidence, she craves admiration insatiably. She lives on the reflections of herself in the eyes of others. She does not dare to be herself.

Anything I cannot transform into something marvelous, I let go.

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

We travel, some of us forever to seek other states other lives other souls.

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

Each friend represents a world in us a world not born until they arrive and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.

When we blindly adopt a religion, a political system, a literary dogma, we become automatons. We cease to grow.

How wrong it is for a woman to expect the man to build the world she wants rather than to create it herself.

Dreams pass into the reality of action. From the actions stems the dream again, and this interdependence produces the highest form of living.

Living never wore one out so much as the effort not to live.

I postpone death by living by suffering by error by risking by giving by losing.

Truth is something which can't be told in a few words. Those who simplify the universe only reduce the expansion of its meaning.

There are many ways to be free. One of them is to transcend reality by imagination as I try to do.

If you do not breathe through writing if you do not cry out in writing or sing in writing then don't write because our culture has no use for it.

Good things happen to those who hustle.

People living deeply have no fear of death.

There is not one big cosmic meaning for all there is only the meaning we each give to our life an individual meaning an individual plot like an individual novel a book for each person.

Life is a process of becoming a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death.

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.

The only abnormality is the incapacity to love.

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