Quotes by Jean Rhys

I had had the job for three weeks. It was dreary. You couldnt read; they didnt like it. I would feel as if I were drugged, sitting there, watching those damned dolls, thinking what a success they would have made of their lives if they had been women. Satin skin, silk hair, velvet eyes, sawdust heart - all complete.

Anything you like; anything I like... No past to make us sentimental, no future to embarrass us

I thought if I told no one it might not be true.

Well, lets argue this out, Mr Blank. You, who represent Society, have the right to pay me four hundred francs a month. Thats my market value, for I am an inefficient member of Society, slow in the uptake, uncertain, slightly damaged in the fray, theres no denying it. So you have the right to pay me four hundred francs a month, to lodge me in a small, dark room, to clothe me shabbily, to harass me with worry and monotony and unsatisfied longings till you get me to the point when I blush at a look, cry at a word. We cant all be happy, we cant all be rich, we cant all be lucky - and it would be so much less fun if we were. Isnt it so, Mr Blank? There must be the dark background to show up the bright colours. Some must cry so that the others may be able to laugh the more heartily.

You are walking along a road peacefully. You trip. You fall into blackness. Thats the past - or perhaps the future. And you know that there is no past, no future, there is only this blackness, changing faintly, slowly, but always the same.

No past to make us sentimental, no future to embarrass us...a difficult moment when you are out of practice - a moment that makes you go cold, cold and wary.

She had left me thirsty and all my life would be thirst and longing for what I had lost before I found it.

As for her, Id forgotten her for the moment. So I shall never understand why, suddenly, bewilderingly, I was certain that everything I had imagined to be truth was false. False. Only the magic and the dream are true—all the rests a lie. Let it go. Here is the secret. Here.

She spent the foggy day in endless, aimless walking, for it seemed to her that if she moved quickly enough she would escape the fear that hunted her. It was a vague and shadowy fear of something cruel and stupid that had caught her and would never let her go. She had always known that it was there - hidden under the more of less pleasant surface of things. Always. Ever since she was a child.You could argue about hunger or cold or loneliness, but with that fear you couldnt argue. It went too deep. You were too mysteriously sure of its terror. You could only walk very fast and try to leave it behind you.

Stephan was secretive and a liar, but he was a very gentle and expert lover. She was the petted, cherished child, the desired mistress, the worshipped, perfumed goddess. She was all these things to Stephan - or so he made her believe.

The devil prince of this world, but this world don’t last so long for mortal man.

These people all fling themselves at me. Because I am uneasy and sad they all fling themselves at me larger than life. But I can put my arm up to avoid the impact and they slide gently to the ground. Individualists, completely wrapped up in themselves, thank God. Its the extrovert, prancing around, dying for a bit of fun - thats the person youve got to be wary of.

Ive had enough of these streets that sweat a cold, yellow slime, of hostile people, of crying myself to sleep every night. Ive had enough of thinking, enough of remembering.

Very soon shell join all the others who know the secret and will not tell it. Or cannot. Or try and fail because they do not know enough. They can be recognized. White faces, dazed eyes, aimless gestures, high-pitched laughter. The way they walk and talk and scream or try to kill (themselves or you) if you laugh back at them. Yes, theyve got to be watched. For the time comes when they try to kill, then disappear. But others are waiting to take their places, its a long, long line. Shes one of them. I too can wait—for the day when she is only a memory to be avoided, locked away, and like all memories a legend. Or a lie ...

Well, that was the end of me, the real end. Two pound ten every Tuesday and a room of the Grays Inn Road. Saved, rescued and with my place to hide in - what more did I want? I crept in and hid. The lid of the coffin shut down with a bang. Now I no longer wish to be loved, beautiful, happy or successful. I want one thing and one thing only - to be left alone. No more pawings, no more pryings - leave me alone.

It was like letting go and falling back into water and seeing yourself grinning up through the water, your face like a mask, and seeing the bubbles coming up as if you were trying to speak from under the water. And how do you know what its like to try to speak from under water when youre drowned?

When he talked his eyes went away from mine and then he forced himself to look straight at me and he began to explain and I knew that he felt very strange with me and that he hated me, and it was funny sitting there and talking like that, knowing he hated me.

One realized all sorts of things. The value of an illusion, for instance, and that the shadow can be more important than the substance. All sorts of things.

Justice. Ive heard that word. I tried it out. I wrote it down. I wrote it down several times and always it looked like a damn cold lie to me. There is no justice.

At twenty-four she imagined with dread that she was growing old.