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“I love my mystery. I love the abstract, delicate, profound, vague, voluptuously wordless sensation of living ecstatically. On days like that I could write you any way at all - and I don’t really care, as long as you understand.

I don’t care about beautiful or perfect English. If It comes out perfect or beautiful - very well - but you know, I don’t care enough about just that - I’m so full, so excited, so feverish - language will always drag and lag behind.

I live with the consciousness of the poet - mind you - not the consciousness the dead-formula-making psychoanalysts would like to put their clinical fingers on - oh, not that, no; I mean a consciousness with acute senses.

The consciousness of going to the edge.”

—Anaïs Nin,

A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin & Henry Miller, 1932-1953

There’s a moon inside every human being.
Learn to be companions with it. Give more of your life to this listening.

As brightness is to time, so you are to the one who talks to the deep ear in your chest.

I should sell my tongue and buy a thousand ears when that one steps near and begins to speak.

— Rumi

“There were always in me, two women at least, One woman desperate and bewildered, who felt she was drowning;

And another who would leap into a scene, as upon a stage, conceal her true emotions because they were weaknesses, helplessness, despair. And present to the world only a smile, an eagerness, curiosity, enthusiasm, interest.”

— Anaïs Nin

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