Anais nin’s Amazing Quotes About Sayings and Quotes

I often see how you sob over what you destroy, how you want to stop and just worship; and you do stop, and then a moment later you are at it again with a knife, like a surgeon.

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.

I reserve the right to love many different people at once, and to change my prince often.

I am only responsible for my own heart, you offered yours up for the smashing my darling. Only a fool would give out such a vital organ.

I have no brakes on…analysis is for those who are paralyzed by life.

Writers do not live one life, they live two. There is the living and then there is the writing. There is the second tasting, the delayed reaction.

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

In my childhood diary, I wrote: “I have decided that it is better not to love anyone, because when you love people, then you have to be separated from them, and that hurts too much.

When we blindly adopt a religion, a political system, a literary dogma, we become automatons.

Something is always born of excess: great art was born of great terror, great loneliness, great inhibitions, instabilities, and it always balances them.

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

I am only responsible for my own heart, you offered yours up for the smashing my darling. Only a fool would give out such a vital organ.

I must be a mermaid, Rango. I have no fear of depths and a great fear of shallow living.

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.

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.

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

Anxiety is love’s greatest killer. It makes others feel as you might when a drowning man holds on to you. You want to save him, but you know he will strangle you with his panic.

The role of a writer is not to say what we can all say, but what we are unable to say.

Throw your dreams into space like a kite, and you do not know what it will bring back, a new life, a new friend, a new love, a new country.

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

I made no resolutions for the New Year. The habit of making plans, of criticizing, sanctioning, and molding my life, is too much of a daily event for me.

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

life is truly known only to those who suffer, lose, endure adversity, & stumble from defeat to defeat.

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

When others asked the truth of me, I was convinced it was not the truth they wanted, but an illusion they could bear to live with.

For you and for me, the highest moment, the keenest joy, is not when our minds dominate but when we lose our minds, and you and I both lose it in the same way, through love.

I am lonely, yet not everybody will do. I don’t know why, some people fill the gaps and others emphasize my loneliness.

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.

I will always be the virgin-prostitute, the perverse angel, the two-faced sinister and saintly woman.

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.

I believe one writes because one has to create a world in which one can live.

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.

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

I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.

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.

Our love of each other was like two long shadows kissing without hope of reality.

I sat there for three hours and did not feel the time or the boredom of our talk and its foolish disconnection. As long as I could hear his voice, I was quite lost, quite blind, quite outside my own self

Each contact with a human being is so rare, so precious, one should preserve it.

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.

Had I not created my whole world, I would certainly have died in other people’s.

I take pleasure in my transformations. I look quiet and consistent, but few know how many women there are in me.

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

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.

You don’t find love, it finds you. It’s got a little bit to do with destiny, fate, and what’s written in the stars.

The truly faithless one is the one who makes love to only a fraction of you. And denies the rest.

Do not seek the because – in love, there is no because, no reason, no explanation, no solutions.

There are two ways to reach me: by way of kisses or by way of the imagination. But there is a hierarchy: the kisses alone don’t work.

The possession of knowledge does not kill the sense of wonder and mystery. There is always more mystery.