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"I wonder if Allendy knows how uncapturable I have been. What a comedy
it is for me to have been kissed, fucked, when I was not there at all.
How intact I feel tonight here with my journal and a letter from Henry.
Reality has no hold on me when it is stupid, or ridiculous, or ugly, or
feeble." p. 148 |
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"We talk all day! Henry pours out all he knows, reads, thinks. He talks
to find himself, his ideas. Lawrence, sex, boyhood, a million subjects,
explorations, discoveries. If there were no sex between us there would
still be worlds and worlds and worlds of passionate common interests,
interdevelopment." p. 150 |
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"We ate when we got hungry, in the rue de l'Abbe Groult, in a little
bistro, ham and salad and cheese and I got drunk on one glass of white
wine. I could see the radium sunlight lighting up the archway of the
tree's foliage, shimmering, when in reality the day was gray. I felt and
saw light and constant warmth. I wanted to make Henry a gift because of
his cold, and he confessed he craved a phonograph. We went shopping
together. We brought the phonograph back in a taxi. so contented, so
soft, so close. Arm in arm. We went to bed and slept soundly in the warm
of this magical womb containing both of us, lulling us. A womb of
warmth, like tropical sorcery. The salad, the ham, the wine, the
streets, the phonograph, the taxi rides, the bed, all bursting with a
magical content...our double enjoyment, heightened everything. Henry
expands, roseate, flowing, handsome with glowingness, and I feel his
joy, his appetite, his enjoyment. I become hungry and roseate. He gives
me the savor of the present. Nowhere else do I find this magic. This
beautiful, complete present. Together the moment becomes infinite" p. 175 |
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Incest: From "A Journal of Love" : The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin,
1932-1934 Texas Bookman 1992, Hardcover, 418 p. Buy this book online Harvest Books 1993, Paperback Buy this book online |