#the diary of anaïs nin

[metamorphesque]

— Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anais Nin, Vol. 4: 1944-1947

[elvendeity]

Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934

[petaltexturedskies]

Anaïs Nin, from the diary of Anais Nin, vol. VI: 1955-1966

[flowerytale]

Anaïs Nin, from The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 5: 1947-1955

[Text ID: 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.]

[larmoyante]

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.

The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Volume One 1931-1934, Anaïs Nin

[trees-and-planets]

— Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 7: 1966-1974

[strykerlancer]

“I am always between two worlds, always in conflict. I would like sometimes to rest, to be at peace, to choose a nook, make a final choice, but I can't. Some nameless, undescribable fear and anxiety keeps me on the move. On certain evenings like this, I would like to feel whole. Only a half of me is sitting by the fire.”

— Anaïs Nin, from “The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934.”

[sopstvena]

"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. The artist is the only one who knows the world is a subjective creation, that there is a choice to be made, a selection of elements. It is a materialization, an incarnation of his inner world. Then he hopes to attract others into it, he hopes to impose this particular vision and share it with others. When the second stage is not reached, the brave artist continues nevertheless. The few moments of communion with the world are worth the pain, for it is a world for others, an inheritance for others, a gift to others, in the end. When you make a world tolerable for yourself, you make a world tolerable for others. We also write to heighten our own awareness of life, we write to lure and enchant and console others, we write to serenade our lovers. We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospection. We write, like Proust, to render all of it eternal, and to persuade ourselves that it is eternal. We write to be able to transcend our life, to reach beyond it."

— Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 5: 1947-1955

[fawnaura]

Anaïs Nin, from The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 2. 1934-1939

[twicedailyquotes]

Occasionally I think of death. I can easily believe in the disintegration of the body, but cannot that all I have learned, experienced, accumulated, can disappear and be wasted. Like a river, it must flow somewhere. There must be continuity.

Anaïs Nin

[metamorphesque]

― Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934

[your-neighbours-cat]

The Diary of Anaïs Nin

[petaltexturedskies]

I have just stood before the open window of my bedroom and I have breathed in deeply all the honeysuckle-perfumed air, the sunshine, the snowdrops of winter, the carouses of spring, the primroses, the crooning pigeons, the trills of the birds, the entire procession of soft winds and cool smells of frail colors and petal-textured skies, the knotted snake greys of old vine roots, the vertical shoots of young branches, the dank smell of old leaves, of wet earth, of torn roots, and fresh-cut grass, winter, summer, and fall, sunrises and sunsets, storms and lulls, wheat and chestnuts, wild strawberries and wild roses, violets and damp logs, burnt fields and new poppies.

Anaïs Nin, from The Diary of Anaïs Nin vol. I: 1931-1934

[flowerytale]

Anaïs Nin, from "The Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1944–1947"

[eyeofpsyche]

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.

Anaïs Nin, ‘The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 5: 1947-1955.’ 

[trees-and-planets]

Anaïs Nin - "The Diary of Anaïs Nin"