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"For our anxiety is the one thing we cannot place on the shoulders of others, it suffocates them."
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"Honestly, if I stay on this gruelling path, I'm going to end up as another suicide statistic."
"Some people never go crazy. Me, sometimes I'll lie down behind the couch for 3 or 4 days. They'll find me there. It's Cherub, they'll say, and they pour wine down my throat rub my chest sprinkle me with oils. Then, I'll rise with a roar, rant, rage - curse them and the universe as I send them scattering over the lawn. I'll feel much better, sit down to toast and eggs, hum a little tune, Suddenly become as lovable as a pink overfed whale. Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead."
"Keep negative people long meters away from you; their presence is a threat to your high self-esteem! Job, the man of God kept his wife afar before he could make it again!"
"...they would say 'he said this, he did that', but they would never say 'she said this, she did that'. So I would say, they are sick, and I am well. Pardon me."
"Anxiety and stress derive from fear and self-doubt."
"I was cyber-bullied before all those Myspace-related suicides, so my school principal wasn't really impressed when my mom complained about what was happening to me on my Xanga blog and on AIM chat."Get your life sorted out, you fucking scitzo [sic] dyke tranny bitch, one comment might say.Another comment would say something like, "I know she's reading this, she's so pathetic.And, perhaps most frightening of all: "I'm going to fuck you up until your mother bleeds."
"No one sees your strength, do they? No one sees the silent battle you fight against your overprotective mind that's trying to keep you safe from harm by keeping you safe from risk, safe from connection, safe from honesty. Maybe others don't see, but you see it sometimes, don't you? In the mirror, in those eyes, begging for someone to notice. You have noticed. It is real. You are strong. You are fighting for something incredible. Don't let anyone convince you otherwise-especially not your thoughts."
"He: What's the matter with you?Me: Nothing.Nothing was slowly clotting my arteries. Nothing slowly numbing my soul. Caught by nothing, saying nothing, nothingness becomes me. When I am nothing they will say surprised in the way that they are forever surprised, "but there was nothing the matter with her."
"I just want to sleep. A coma would be nice. Or amnesia. Anything, just to get rid of this, these thoughts, whispers in my mind. Did he rape my head, too?"
"As long as everyone thinks you're a cutter or tried to commit suicide you'll always be on the outs."
Explore more quotes by Anais Nin
"When we blindly adopt a religion, a political system, a literary dogma, we become automatons. We cease to grow."
"Men can be in love with literary figures, with poetic and mythological figures, but let them meet with Artemis, with Venus, with any of the goddesses of love, and then they start hurling moral judgments."
"I take pleasure in my transformations. I look quiet and consistent, but few know how many women there are in me."
"There are very few human beings who receive the truth, complete and staggering, by instant illumination. Most of them acquire it fragment by fragment, on a small scale, by successive developments, cellularly, like a laborious mosaic."
"Dreams pass into the reality of action. From the actions stems the dream again; and this interdependence produces the highest form of living."
"Last night I wept. I wept because the process by which I have become woman was painful. I wept because I was no longer a child with a child's blind faith. I wept because my eyes were opened to reality....I wept because I could not believe anymore and I love to believe. I can still love passionately without believing. That means I love humanly. I wept because I have lost my pain and I am not yet accustomed to its absence."
"Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born."
"I gathered poets around me and we all wrote beautiful erotica. As we were condemned to focus only on sensuality, we had violent explosions of poetry. Writing erotica became a road to sainthood rather than to debauchery."
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