Every lover could be brought to trial as the murderer of his own love. When something hurts you, saddens you, I rush to avoid it, to alter it, to feel as you do, but you turn away with a gesture of impatience and say: "I don't understand

— Anaïs Nin

Everything with me is either worship and passion or pity and understanding. I rarely hate, though when I hate, I hate murderously. But I am more preoccupied with loving.

— Anaïs Nin

Everything with me is either worship and passion or pity and understanding. I rarely hate, though when I hate, I hate murderously. For example now, I hate the bank and everything connected with it. I also hate Dutch paintings, penis-sucking, parties, and cold rainy weather. But I am much more preoccupied with loving.

— Anaïs Nin

Every word spoken in the past accumulated forms and colors in the self. What flows through the veins besides blood is the distillation of every act committed, the sediment of all the visions, wishes, dreams and experiences. All the past emotions converge to tint the skin and flavor the lips, to regulate the pulse and produce crystals in the eyes.

— Anaïs Nin

For our anxiety is the one thing we cannot place on the shoulders of others, it suffocates them.

— Anaïs Nin

For too many centuries women have been being muses to artists. I wanted to be the muse, I wanted to be the wife of the artist, but I was really trying to avoid the final issue — that I had to do the job myself.

— Anaïs Nin

Fucking is an art. The mere fact of introducing the cock in the cunt and moving it in and out until the ejaculation of spunk is not art. True, it is fucking, but the difference between that way of doing it and the way it should be done, is like the difference between a child's first drawing and a picture by the world's greatest painter.

— Anaïs Nin

He failed to see that it contained at once all of June's wishes which had been denied, and these wishes had flown from all directions to meet at this intersection and to plead once more for understanding.

— Anaïs Nin

He had appointed her not only guardian angel, but a member of his ideals.

— Anaïs Nin

He had never seen her body so abandoned, so unconscious of all but the desire to be taken and satisfied. She bloomed under his caresses, no longer the girl but the woman already being born.

— Anaïs Nin