“Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.”
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“Reality doesn't impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.”
― Incest: From "A Journal of Love": The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1932-1934
― Incest: From "A Journal of Love": The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1932-1934
Chantelle’s 2025 Year in Books
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