If happiness is the absence of fever then I will never know happiness. For I am posessed by a fever for knowledge,… — Anais Nin Happiness Copy Share Image
Because history is only an aggregate of personal hostilities, personal prejudices, personal blindness and irrationality, there are times when we have to… — Anais Nin Blindness Copy Share Image
“I feel a little like the moon who took possession of you for a moment and then returned your soul to you.… — Anaïs Nin Anais-nin Copy Share Image
This morning I got up to begin this book I coughed. Something was coming out of my throat: it was strangling me.… — Anais Nin Bed Copy Share Image
They courted the face on the screen, the face of translucence, the face of wax on which men found it possible to… — Anais Nin Faces Copy Share Image
There are only two kinds of freedom in the world; the freedom of the rich and powerful, and the freedom of the… — Anais Nin Art Copy Share Image
The impetus to grow and live intensely is so powerful in me I cannot resist it. I will work, I will love… — Anais Nin Grows Copy Share Image
I postpone death by living, by suffering, by error, by risking, by giving, by losing. — Anais Nin Death Copy Share Image
To commit suicide is easy. To live without a god is more difficult. The drunkenness of triumph is greater than the drunkenness… — Anais Nin Commit Copy Share Image
“When Henry telephones, I feel his voice in my veins. I want him to talk into me. I want him to talk… — Anaïs Nin Copy Share Image
“If I did not move and dance between them the three would turn to stone, for they are passive [...] They would… — Anaïs Nin Dance Copy Share Image
Im restless. Things are calling me away. My hair is being pulled by the stars again. — Anaïs Nin Dreamer Copy Share Image
It is the function of art to renew our perception. What we are familiar with we cease to see. The writer shakes… — Anais Nin Art Copy Share Image
We efface an hour by passionate love, without twists, without aftertaste. When it is finished, it is not finished, we lie still… — Anais Nin Arms Copy Share Image
One handles truths like dynamite. Literature is one vast hypocrisy, a giant deception, treachery. All writers have concealed more than they revealed. — Anais Nin Books Copy Share Image
A leaf fluttered in through the window this morning, as if supported by the rays of the sun, a bird settled on… — Anais Nin Bird Copy Share Image
Nothing endures unless it has first been transposed into a myth, and the great advantage of myths is that they are ladies… — Anais Nin Advantage Copy Share Image
Innocence was gone from all our acts. Our habitual state of rebellion became a serious political crime. — Anais Nin Crime Copy Share Image
Out of the red and silver and the long cry of alarm to the poet who survives in all human beings, as… — Anais Nin Alarms Copy Share Image
But I lie. I embellish. My words are not deep enough. They disguise, they conceal. I will not rest until I have… — Anais Nin Creation Copy Share Image
I sleep with my feet on moss carpets, my branches in the cotton of the clouds. — Anais Nin Branches Copy Share Image
“I don't want you to taint that fragile coat of astonishing colors created by my illusions, which no painter has ever been… — Anaïs Nin Illusions Copy Share Image
“I don’t understand. I have so much courage, fire, energy, for so many things, yet I get so hurt, so wounded by… — Anaïs Nin Courage Copy Share Image
