And then suddenly she could no longer laugh: caricature was a form of hatred.
— Anaïs Nin, A Spy in the House of Love (via otherpaths)
Above all he possessed a most elaborate encyclopedia of women’s flaws. In this gallery he had most carefully avoided Joan of Arc and other women heroines, Madame Curie and other women of science, the Florence Nightingales, the Amelia Earharts, the women surgeons, the therapists, the artists, the collaborative wives.
His wax figures of women were an endless concentrate of puerilities and treacheries.
— Anaïs Nin, A Spy in the House of Love (via otherpaths)
At night too, she puzzled the mystery of her desperate need of kindness. As other girls prayed for handsomeness in a lover, or for wealth, or for power, or for poetry, she had prayed fervently: let him be kind.
— Anaïs Nin, A Spy in the House of Love (via otherpaths)
I am an international spy in the house of love.
— Anaïs Nin, A Spy in the House of Love (via otherpaths)
I wish I were there now, drinking with them, flying, seeing new countries, new faces, sleeping in the desert, feeling you may die any moment and so you must drink fast, and fight hard, and laugh hard. I wish I were there now, instead of here.
— Anaïs Nin, A Spy in the House of Love (via otherpaths)
I want the impossible, I want to fly all the time, I destroy ordinary life, I run towards all the dangers of love as he ran towards all the dangers of war. He runs away, war is less terrifying to him than life…
— Anaïs Nin, A Spy in the House of Love (via otherpaths)
Her feeling of fragility was so strong that she was startled by the appearance of a woman at her left, who walked in step with her. Sabina glanced at her profile and was comforted by her tallness, the assurance of her walk. She too was dressed in black, but walked without terror.
— Anaïs Nin, A Spy in the House of Love (via otherpaths)
They fled from the eyes of the world, the singer’s prophetic, harsh, ovarian prologues. Down the rusty bars of ladders to the undergrounds of the night propitious to the first man and woman at the beginning of the world, where there were no words by which to possess each other, no music for serenades, no presents to court with, no tournaments to impress and force a yielding, no secondary instruments, no adornments, necklaces, crowns to subdue, but only one ritual, a joyous, joyous, joyous, joyous impaling of woman on man’s sensual mast.
—
Anaïs Nin, A Spy in the House of Love (via underwaterwhales)
For a moment she saw her love anxieties as resembling those of a drug addict, or alcoholics, or gamblers. The same irresistible impulse, tension, compulsion and then depression following the yielding to the impulse, revulsion, bitterness, depression, and the compulsion once more…
— Anaïs Nin, A Spy in the House of Love (via girlabout-town)
