Anaïs Nin on art

Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish it’s source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.

Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.

Life is a process of becoming, a combination of states we have to go through. Where people fail is that they wish to elect a state and remain in it. This is a kind of death.

If music be the food of love, play on.

William Shakespeare1564–1616Twelfth Night (1601), Act I, scene i.In context

• Love
• Music

Poetry is what gets lost in translation.

Robert Frost1874–1963

• Poetry

Music makes one feel so romantic⁠—at least it always gets on one’s nerves⁠—which is the same thing nowadays.

Oscar Wilde1854–1900

• Love
• Music