another day...
this time of the year always affects me...the smell in the air here. it reminds me of being little. feeling safe. weird highschool parties. my parents. the house i grew up in. my friends. a flower shop i worked at. my first boyfriend. waking up early...i could go on but i wont.
instead, some inspiration....Anais Nin, one of my favorites....
You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book...or you take a trip...and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure.
That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children.
And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song and it awakens them and saves them from death. Some never awaken. -Anais Nin
"Good things happen to those who hustle."
"Life is truly known only to those who suffer, lose, endure adversity and stumble from defeat to defeat."
November 17, 1920
10 P.M. How the wind howls in the night and shakes my windowpanes. Perhaps because of the tempest raging outside or perhaps because I have just read Edgar Allan Poe's poems, I feel indescribably desolate.
Everybody else is sleeping, and I tried to bury my face in my pillow and forget, but after a long while the thoughts that passed through my head were so dreary and sad that I jumped out of bed, lit my lamp and sat by my dressing table to talk with you. I see such a queer reflection of myself in my three mirrors. If anyone looked at me now, they would faint, for I know many people think I am sweet and gentle, but there facing me sits a girl with a very haunted, stern, dramatic expression on her face. My eyes are long and narrow like Madame Butterfly's and that means trouble inside---a storm-tossed heart. My hair falling over my shoulders in wild, reddish ripples reminds me that I am not a philosopher battling with some great questions but an ordinary girl battling with her somber temper.
Among the weird and desolate poetry of Poe's are these lines: 'From childhood's hour I have not been / As others were---I have not seen / As others saw---I could not bring / My passion from a common spring--- / From the same source I have not taken / My sorrow---I could not awaken / My heart to joy at the same tone--- / And all I loved I loved alone---All the loneliness is expressed in them, the realization of the 'difference.' That is why I am so changed tonight, for just as when I read Shelley's life, I have lived again all the sorrows of other people's souls. I have not seen as others saw, or drawn my sorrows from the same sources, and I know the great, great loneliness of thoughts and dreams. Even when I sit thus, like tonight, while others sleep so calmly, I think and dream strange things all alone, all alone.
-from The Diary of Anais Nin
"The only abnormality is the incapacity to love."
"Ordinary life does not interest me"
"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."
"Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage."
"i disregard the proportions, the measures and the tempo of the ordinary world" -Anais Nin
instead, some inspiration....Anais Nin, one of my favorites....
You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book...or you take a trip...and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure.
That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children.
And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song and it awakens them and saves them from death. Some never awaken. -Anais Nin
"Good things happen to those who hustle."
"Life is truly known only to those who suffer, lose, endure adversity and stumble from defeat to defeat."
November 17, 1920
10 P.M. How the wind howls in the night and shakes my windowpanes. Perhaps because of the tempest raging outside or perhaps because I have just read Edgar Allan Poe's poems, I feel indescribably desolate.
Everybody else is sleeping, and I tried to bury my face in my pillow and forget, but after a long while the thoughts that passed through my head were so dreary and sad that I jumped out of bed, lit my lamp and sat by my dressing table to talk with you. I see such a queer reflection of myself in my three mirrors. If anyone looked at me now, they would faint, for I know many people think I am sweet and gentle, but there facing me sits a girl with a very haunted, stern, dramatic expression on her face. My eyes are long and narrow like Madame Butterfly's and that means trouble inside---a storm-tossed heart. My hair falling over my shoulders in wild, reddish ripples reminds me that I am not a philosopher battling with some great questions but an ordinary girl battling with her somber temper.
Among the weird and desolate poetry of Poe's are these lines: 'From childhood's hour I have not been / As others were---I have not seen / As others saw---I could not bring / My passion from a common spring--- / From the same source I have not taken / My sorrow---I could not awaken / My heart to joy at the same tone--- / And all I loved I loved alone---All the loneliness is expressed in them, the realization of the 'difference.' That is why I am so changed tonight, for just as when I read Shelley's life, I have lived again all the sorrows of other people's souls. I have not seen as others saw, or drawn my sorrows from the same sources, and I know the great, great loneliness of thoughts and dreams. Even when I sit thus, like tonight, while others sleep so calmly, I think and dream strange things all alone, all alone.
-from The Diary of Anais Nin
"The only abnormality is the incapacity to love."
"Ordinary life does not interest me"
"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."
"Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage."
"i disregard the proportions, the measures and the tempo of the ordinary world" -Anais Nin
posted by Sarah Hudson at
3:35 AM
0 Comments
