Anaïs Nin
@anaisninlovebot
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tweeting excerpts from Anaïs Nin's books and diaries every day.
walking into flames
Joined March 2020
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Pinned Tweet
I am the most tired woman in the world. I am tired when I get up. Life requires an effort which I cannot make.
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I am the most tired woman in the world. I am tired when I get up. Life requires an effort which I cannot make.
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I am the most tired woman in the world. I am tired when I get up. Life requires an effort which I cannot make.
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I am the most tired woman in the world. I am tired when I get up. Life requires an effort which I cannot make.
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I get deeply tired because everything touches me, I am never indifferent.
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I am the most tired woman in the world. I am tired when I get up. Life requires an effort which I cannot make.
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My body needs it—the hot baths, the care, the soft water, the perfume, the warmth. I take on the colors of the flowers, the bloom, the delicacy. It becomes me.
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no connection with the daily world, only with dreams and fantasies.
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I gave myself to the sea. The sea and the sun restore my strength, always.
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Don't wait for it...Create a world, your world. Alone. Stand alone. Create. And then the love will come to you, then it comes to you.
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This love devoured me, this love obsessed me. It was the coil of it which strangled my life.
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I must warn you, you must handle me delicately: I am covered with a mantle of iridescence as easily destroyed as a dust flower
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My body needs it—the hot baths, the care, the soft water, the perfume, the warmth. I take on the colors of the flowers, the bloom, the delicacy. It becomes me.
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My body needs it—the hot baths, the care, the soft water, the perfume, the warmth. I take on the colors of the flowers, the bloom, the delicacy. It becomes me.
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I was shy, withdrawn, and read obsessionally. I managed to keep a book open while making beds and washing dishes. I watched life and wanted to be a part of it but found it painfully difficult.
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Don't wait for it...Create a world, your world. Alone. Stand alone. Create. And then the love will come to you, then it comes to you.
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no connection with the daily world, only with dreams and fantasies.
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My body needs it—the hot baths, the care, the soft water, the perfume, the warmth. I take on the colors of the flowers, the bloom, the delicacy. It becomes me.
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I long to have pretty lingerie, dozens of little dresses, books — and roses, roses, roses.
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I want ecstasy. I am a neurotic — in the sense that I live in my world. I will not adjust myself to the world. I am adjusted to myself.
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My body needs it—the hot baths, the care, the soft water, the perfume, the warmth. I take on the colors of the flowers, the bloom, the delicacy. It becomes me.
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I take pleasure in my transformations. I look quiet and consistent, but few know how many women there are in me.
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I want to consume the whole world, devour it, chew it to pieces, and spit it out again—fresh, terrible, beautiful, alive in all its parts, alive and singing.
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I am devoured with restlessness and fever. I cannot be quiet. I am wildly dreaming of escape, voyages, love, wildly craving love.
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I am madly in love with you—do you want vows? words of tenderness?
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I dreamed you, I wished for your existence. You will always be part of my life. If I love you, it must be because we have shared at some time the same imaginings, the same madness, the same stage.
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Soft, vulnerable, serious, dreamy, tender, and so near to me—beyond all words.
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I yearn for the ecstasies of writing, reading, music, philosophy, contemplation; I yearn for that room I saw through an open window, lined with books, suspended over life, where nothing ever turns to dregs, where landings are not crash landings.
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Soft, vulnerable, serious, dreamy, tender, and so near to me—beyond all words.
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For me, without feeling, without magic, without poetry, there is no life.
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Don't wait for it...Create a world, your world. Alone. Stand alone. Create. And then the love will come to you, then it comes to you.
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My body needs it—the hot baths, the care, the soft water, the perfume, the warmth. I take on the colors of the flowers, the bloom, the delicacy. It becomes me.
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inside of me there are lighted candles, live fires, shadows, spaces, open doors, shelters and air currents. Inside of me there is color and warmth.
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Then I sat at the typewriter, saying to myself: Write, you weakling; write, you madwoman, write your misery out, write out your guts, spill out what is choking you, shout obscenely.
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I want to consume the whole world, devour it, chew it to pieces, and spit it out again—fresh, terrible, beautiful, alive in all its parts, alive and singing.
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I am the most tired woman in the world. I am tired when I get up. Life requires an effort which I cannot make.
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…you walk inside my dreams, I love the pain and the flame in you, but do not touch me.
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I am devoured with restlessness and fever. I cannot be quiet. I am wildly dreaming of escape, voyages, love, wildly craving love.
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I am devoured with restlessness and fever. I cannot be quiet. I am wildly dreaming of escape, voyages, love, wildly craving love.
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I must warn you, you must handle me delicately: I am covered with a mantle of iridescence as easily destroyed as a dust flower
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My body needs it—the hot baths, the care, the soft water, the perfume, the warmth. I take on the colors of the flowers, the bloom, the delicacy. It becomes me.
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I am the most tired woman in the world. I am tired when I get up. Life requires an effort which I cannot make.
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Reality doesn’t impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.
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I take pleasure in my transformations. I look quiet and consistent, but few know how many women there are in me.
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I want to consume the whole world, devour it, chew it to pieces, and spit it out again—fresh, terrible, beautiful, alive in all its parts, alive and singing.
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There is sadness for the dying selves that must be killed for the sake of the new ones.
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I love the abstract, delicate, profound, vague, voluptuously wordless sensation of living ecstatically.
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I can kill the desire, but I can’t kill the tenderness, the need to touch you when your eyes are dark, when you are pale.
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Reality doesn’t impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.
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To hell, to hell with balance! I break glasses; I want to burn, even if I break myself. I live only for ecstasy. Nothing else affects me. Small doses, moderate loves, all the demi-teintes—all these leave me cold.
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I gave myself to the sea. The sea and the sun restore my strength, always.
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I am apparently gentle, unstable, and full of pretenses. I will die a poet killed by the nonpoets, will renounce no dream, resign myself to no ugliness, accept nothing of the world but the one I made myself.
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I want my solitude, my peace, the beauty of my house; I want to find my lightness and my joy again. Ecstasies without hangovers, without vomit.
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Soft, vulnerable, serious, dreamy, tender, and so near to me—beyond all words.
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I will not adjust myself to the world. I am adjusted to myself.
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inside of me there are lighted candles, live fires, shadows, spaces, open doors, shelters and air currents. Inside of me there is color and warmth.
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when I attain love or ecstasy or a perfect moment, I expect it to be followed by pain.
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I want ecstasy. I am a neurotic — in the sense that I live in my world. I will not adjust myself to the world. I am adjusted to myself.
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I love the abstract, delicate, profound, vague, voluptuously wordless sensation of living ecstatically.
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454
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Soft, vulnerable, serious, dreamy, tender, and so near to me—beyond all words.
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I can kill the desire, but I can’t kill the tenderness, the need to touch you when your eyes are dark, when you are pale.
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Women always think that when they have my shoes, my dress, my hairdresser, my make-up, it will all work the same way. They do not conceive of the witchcraft that is needed. They do not know that I am not beautiful but that I only appear to be at certain moments.
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I am madly in love with you—do you want vows? words of tenderness?
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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.
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I was amazed to be able to see the sun on the sea, to feel the spring, to renew my love affair with the world.
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I was amazed to be able to see the sun on the sea, to feel the spring, to renew my love affair with the world.
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You are a tortured being, you have been all your life. Come out of this darkness and live passionately again, forget yourself. Create.
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I kissed his shadow. I kissed his shadow and this kiss did not touch him, this kiss was lost in the air and melted with the shadow. Our love of each other is like one long shadow kissing, without hope of reality.
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Loving in men and women not their strength but their softness, not their fullness but their hunger, not their plenitude but their needs.
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I felt as soft as a summer day, all bloom and scent, all joy of being.
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I was amazed to be able to see the sun on the sea, to feel the spring, to renew my love affair with the world.
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I shall live on dreams because reality is too cruel for me. I think I shall be the kind of person that nobody understands.
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I am devoured with restlessness and fever. I cannot be quiet. I am wildly dreaming of escape, voyages, love, wildly craving love.
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I am flowing again—I have lost my fears, my anguishes. I have multiple desires, curiosities, interests. I can be everywhere.
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Today I am preeminently human. I weep, laugh; I make scenes. I fight. I lie. I defend myself. I do not try to be good.
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I have such a fear of finding another like myself, and such a desire to find one! I am so utterly lonely, but I also have such a fear that my isolation be broken through, and I no longer be the head and ruler of my universe.
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You're all sensitiveness, you're the flower of everything, you're stylization, the perfume and essence of all things.
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What can I do with my happiness? How can I keep it, conceal it, bury it where I may never lose it? I want to kneel as it falls over me like rain, gather it up with lace and silk, and press it over myself again
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I felt as soft as a summer day, all bloom and scent, all joy of being.
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she sought other lands, strange faces, forgetfulness, the unfamiliar, the fantasy and the fairy tale.
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