The Diary of Anais Nin

• 荷马的玫瑰

  2013-07-25
  'The diary taught me that it is in the moments of emotional crisis that human beings reveal themselves most accurately. I learned to choose the heightened moments because they are the moments ot revelation.
• 荷马的玫瑰

  2013-07-25
  It takes character to write a long, lifelong diary, a book, to create several homes, to travel, to protect others, and yet I have no character in human relationships. I cannot scold a maid, tell a hurtful truth, assert my wishes, be angry at injustice or treachery. I heard Joaquin say: 'Anais is a dreamer, she has no sense of reality. It is reality she thinks Henry is revealing to her.
• 荷马的玫瑰

  2013-07-24
  I live more on time. What is remembered later does not seem as true to me. I have such a need of truth! It must be that need of immediate recording which incites me to write almost while I am living, before it is altered, changed by distance or time.
• 荷马的玫瑰

  2013-07-24
  There are some things one cannot seize by realism, but by poetry. It is a matter of language.
• 荷马的玫瑰

  2013-07-24
  Henry says angrily, 'She is an empty box.' And he adds, 'You are the full box.' To think of her in the middle of the day lifts me out of ordinary living. Who wants the ideas, the fantasies, the contents, if the box is beautiful and inspiring. I am inspired by June the empty box. The world has never been as empty as since I have known her. Precisely because a world full of ideas, talent, fantasies, is not a full world. June supplies the beautiful incandescent flesh, the fulgurant voice, the abysmal eyes, the drugged gestures, the presence of the body, the incarnation of our dreams and creations. What are we? Only the creators. She IS. What a dull world without June. No Beauty. No Voice. No Presence. All the poetry written, all the erotic imaginings, all the obsessions, illusions, nightm...
• 荷马的玫瑰

  2013-07-24
  To be fully alive is to live unconsciously and instinctively in all directions, as Henry and June do. Idealism is the death of the body and o the imagination. All but freedom, utter freedom, is death.
• 荷马的玫瑰

  2013-06-22
  She would not read books on travel but she sat alert in the cafe to catch the appearance of an Abyssinian, a Greek, an Iranian, a Hindu, who would bear direct news from home, who would be carrying photographs from his family, and who would deliver to her personally all the flavors of his country.
• 荷马的玫瑰

  2013-06-22
  I said: 'I do feel that perhaps you did not ask the correct questions of the Sphinx.''What would you ask?''I would not be concerned with the secrets, the lies, the mysteries, the facts. I would be concerned with what makes them necessary. What fear.'This, I feel, Henry does not understand. He is the great collector of facts, and the essence sometimes escapes him.
• 荷马的玫瑰

  2013-06-19
  Every room is painted a different color. As if there were one room for every separate mood: lacquer red for vehemence, pale turquoise for reveries, peach color for gentleness, green for repose, grey for work at the typewriter. Ordinary life does not interest me. I seek only the high moments. I am in accord with the surrealists, searching for the marvelous.I want to be a writer who reminds others that these moments exist; I want to prove that there is infinite space, infinite meaning, infinite dimension. But I am not always in what I call a state of grace. I have days of illuminations and fevers. I have days when the music in my head stops. Then I mend socks, prune trees, can fruits, polish furniture. But while I am doing this I feel I am not living.
• 荷马的玫瑰

  2013-06-19
  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 creat a marvelous world in which to house it, in which to receive adequately this guest of honor.
• 荷马的玫瑰

  2013-06-19
  I chose the house for many reasons.Because it seemed to have sprouted out of the earth like a tree, so deeply grooved it was within the old garden. It had no cellar and the rooms rested right on the ground. Below the rug, I felt, was the earth. I could take root here, feel at one with the house and the garden, take nourishment from them like the plants.
• 荷马的玫瑰

  2013-06-19
  Louveciennes resembles the village where Madame Bovary lived and died. It is old, untouched and unchanged by modern life. It is built on a hill overlooking the Seine. On clear nights one can see Paris. It has an old church dominating a group of small houses, cobblestone streets, and several large properties, manor houses, a castle on the outskirts of the village. One of the properties belonged to Madame du Barry. During the revolution her lover was guillotined and his head thrown over the ivy-covered wall into her garten. This is now the property of Coty.
• aratum

  2021-10-22
  Man can control his destiny, to extent that he becomes aware of these tropisms, but it requires a real initiation, similar to Buddhist discipline which enable disciples to escape their Karma through knowledge.
• 荷马的玫瑰

  2013-06-22
  June and I have paid with our souls for taking fantasies seriously, for living a life as a theatre, or loving costumes and changes of selves, for wearing masks and disguises. But I know always what is real. Does June?