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Eloquence is a painting of thought; and thus those who, after having painted it, add something more, make a picture instead of a portrait.

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Jean Rhys

I hated the mountains and the hills, the rivers and the rain. I hated the sunsets of whatever colour, I hated its beauty and its magic and the secret I would never know. I hated its indifference and the cruelty which was part of its loveliness. Above all I hated her. For she belonged to the magic and the loveliness. She had left me thirsty and all my life would be thirst and longing for what I had lost before I found it.

Found, Rain, Rivers, Secret, Sunset, Sunsets
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I would never be part of anything. I would never really belong anywhere, and I knew it, and all my life would be the same, trying to belong, and failing. Always something would go wrong. I am a stranger and I always will be, and after all I didn’t really care.

Being Yourself, Belong, Care, I Dont Care, Life, Part

My life, which seems so simple and monotonous, is really a complicated affair of cafés where they like me and cafés where they don't, streets that are friendly, streets that aren't, rooms where I might be happy, rooms where I shall never be, looking-glasses I look nice in, looking-glasses I don't, dresses that will be lucky, dresses that won't, and so on.

Nice, Simple, Glasses, Streets, Happy, Monotonous

All of writing is a huge lake. There are great rivers that feed the lake, like Tolstoy or Dostoyevsky. And then there are mere trickles, like Jean Rhys. All that matters is feeding the lake. I don't matter. The lake matters. You must keep feeding the lake.

Feeding, Huge, Lakes, Rivers, Trickles, Writing

Now I no longer wish to be loved, beautiful, happy or successful. I want one thing and one thing only - to be left alone.

Beautiful, Longer, Successful, Thing, Wish

You can pretend for a long time, but one day it all falls away and you are alone. We are alone in the most beautiful place in the world.

Away, Beautiful, Fall, Long, Time
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