Surely every one realizes, at some point along the way, that he is capable of living a far better life than the one he has chosen.
Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch // Henry Miller
henrymiller
MIND: Eloquence
Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heartache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty.
Every man, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. there is no mystery about the origin of things.
We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, only to discover what is already there.
// Henry Miller
MIND: Extrusive
What a world to study, to explore, in your night face. The face of a stranger, carved out of lava, like some oceanic goddess. More mysterious with eyes closed and features sculpted out of ancestral memories. An almost barbaric look, as if you had been resurrected from some ancient city.
// Henry Miller, from a letter to Hoki Tokuda
MIND: Mute
I want to do things so wild with you that
I don’t know how to say them.
// Anaïs Nin, from a letter to Henry Miller
MIND: Flighty
I see myself forever and ever as the ridiculous person, the lonely soul, the wanderer, the restless frustrated artist, the person in love with love, always in search of the absolute, always seeking the unattainable.
Stand Still Like the Hummingbird // Henry Miller
MIND: Deception
Either you want me to be what I am and like it,
or you are deceiving yourself about me.
// Henry Miller
MIND: Addictive
Something in you pacifies me.
You’ve always had that power over me – part of you pacifies, another terrifies.
How do I get sick of that? I will never get sick of that.
// Henry Miller, from a letter to Anaïs Nin
MIND: Growth
You have literally grown into my soul.
Dear, Dear Brenda // Henry Miller
MIND: Restless
I suffer because of myself.
It is my own soul all the time that is bothering me.
// Henry Miller, from a letter to Anaïs Nin
MIND: Roots
I don’t lie to you.
Nor do I try to hurt you when I’m honest with you.
I’ve protected, or tried to, the best in you.
I never could promise to protect your body and soul –
nobody can promise another that.
We can only make one another strong, help each other to believe in ourselves.
He does not protect you – he makes you a slave.
You get befuddled.
You need him and he needs you – and it’s not true, it’s a lie, and you know it, and that’s the root of all your unhappiness.
// Henry Miller, from a letter to Anaïs Nin
