EDITOR’S NOTE: Ella Gwendolyn Rees Williams - Jean Rhys to you - was born on August 24th 1890. “My life has been turbulent and very boring.” Portrait by Paul Joyce, 1977.
EDITOR’S NOTE: If Twitter does collapse and this account ceases to exist, you can find almost all the quotes in Jean Rhys’s books, and in the correct order and original context too. So just read those.
I've thought about death a great deal. One day in the snow I felt so tired. I thought, Damn it, I'll sit down. I can't go on. I'm tired of living here in the snow and ice. So I sat down on the ground. But it was cold so I got up.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Ella Gwendolyn Rees Williams - Jean Rhys to you - was born on August 24th 1890. “I've had rather a rum life, but I was thinking the other day, would I go through it all again? I think not.” Portrait by Paul Joyce, 1977.
When I read Jane Eyre as a child, I thought, why should she think Creole women are lunatics and all that? She seemed such a poor ghost. I thought I'd try to write her a life.
When I read Jane Eyre as a child, I thought, why should she think Creole women are lunatics and all that? She seemed such a poor ghost. I thought I'd try to write her a life.
I felt a certainty of joy, and terrific, terrific happiness, not only for me, but for everyone. I sat and I looked about and I thought: Why do I hate people? They're not hateful. My happiness for everyone lasted, lasted, perhaps three or four days.
I've thought about death a great deal. One day in the snow I felt so tired. I thought, Damn it, I'll sit down. I can't go on. I'm tired of living here in the snow and ice. So I sat down on the ground. But it was cold so I got up.
What one should do is write in an ordinary way and make the writing seem extraordinary. One should write, too, about what is ordinary, and see the extraordinary behind it.
I've thought about death a great deal. One day in the snow I felt so tired. I thought, Damn it, I'll sit down. I can't go on. I'm tired of living here in the snow and ice. So I sat down on the ground. But it was cold so I got up.
Oh, I found England bitterly cold. I used to lie in bed and shiver and shiver, wondering why I'd ever dreamt of wanting to see daffodils and snowflakes.
I don't feel well. I don't feel up to it. My clothes are too shabby. Besides, I hate people. I'm afraid of people. I never used to be like this, but now I'm going dippy, I suppose.
It's funny when you feel as if you don't want anything more in your life except to sleep, or else to lie without moving. That’s when you can hear time sliding past you, like water running.
There is no control over memory. Quite soon you find yourself being vague about an event which seemed so important at the time that you thought you'd never forget it.
Love was a terrible thing. You poisoned it and stabbed at it and knocked it down into the mud and it got up and staggered on, bleeding and muddy and awful. Like - like Rasputin.