She had lost herself somewhere along the frontier between her inventions, her stories, her fantasies and her true self. The boundaries had become effaced, the tracks lost, she had walked into pure chaos, and not a chaos which carried her like the galloping of romantic riders in operas and legends, but which suddenly revealed the stage props: a papier-mรขchรฉ horse.
Anais NinWriting more and more to the sound of music, writing more and more like music. Sitting in my studio tonight, playing record after record, writing, music a stimulant of the highest order, far more potent than wine.
Anais NinParis-New York, the two high tension magnetic poles between life, life of the senses, of the spirit in Paris, and life in action in New York.
Anais Nin