Talk—half-talk, phrases that had no need to be finished, abstractions, Chinese bells played on with cotton-tipped sticks, mock orange blossoms painted on porcelain. The muffled, close, half-talk of soft-fleshed women. The men she had embraced, and the women, all washing against the resonance of my memory. Sound within sound, scene within scene, woman within woman—like acid revealing an invisible script. One woman within another eternally, in a far-reaching procession, shattering my mind into fragments, into quarter tones which no orchestral baton can ever make whole again.
Anais NinI don't mind working, holding my ground intellectually, artistically; but as a woman, oh, God, as a woman I want to be dominated
Anais NinWarmth, perfume, rugs, soft lights, books. They do not appease me. I am aware of time passing, of all the world contains that I have not seen, of all the interesting people I have not met.
Anais NinI 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
Anais Nin