Janet Fitch quotes: wise famous quotes, sayings and quotations by Janet Fitch

Janet Fitch Famous Quotes & Sayings

Discover top inspirational quotes from Janet Fitch on Wise Famous Quotes.

Oleander time, she said. Lovers who kill each other now will blame it on the wind.

Most women experience issues of power and sexuality, but very few women talk about it. There's the threat of the loss of approval.

She was such a bad actress. she never said her lines rite, it was something perverse in her nature. and wat was her line anyway?

I felt like time was a great sea, and I was floating on the back of a turtle, and no sails broke the horizon.

I send all my short fiction to 'Ontario Review' because Joyce Carol Oates is associate editor there, and I think she's fantastic.

Her hatred glittered irresistibly. I could see it, the jewel, it was sapphire, it was the cold lakes of Norway.

Nineteen is as alive as 40-plus. I can vividly remember 19 and how I saw the world.

I felt beautiful but also interrupted. I wasn't used to being so complicated.

her magenta lips a wolf's stained smile.

Love is temperamental. tiring. it makes demands. love uses you. changes its mind.

It's such a liability to love another person.

I've always been concerned with what happens to children in our society when there's nobody left to take care of them.

I despise places where you have to have an assigned seat. Makes me feel like I'm at the airport.

When you started thinking it was easy, you were forgetting what it cost.

I always read poetry before I write, to sensitize me to the rhythms and music of language.

His guitar bore his longing up into the darkness like sparks, a music profound in its objectless desire, beautiful beyond solace or solution

His hands, shedding actual tears. The silky cold dirt and sharp pebbles of the road

I learned, whatever you hung from my earlobes or out on my back, I was insoluble, like same in water. Stir me up, I always rest on the bottom

That was her edge. her secret weapon. she didnt give a shit.

I closed my eyes to watch tiny dancers like jeweled birds cross the dark screen of my eyelids.

Loneliness was the human condition, I had to get used to it.

The moon rose, squatting in the strained blue.

This is Zen", she said. "No flaw, no moment's hesitation. A window onto grace.

We were so mutable, fluid with fear and desire, ideals and angles, changeable as water. I

I never know how a novel is going to end, because you don't really know what's going to be at the bottom of a novel until you excavate it.

I thought clay must feel happy in the good potter's hand.

When anybody could tell, nobody was ever going to give fucking peace a chance.

Death now or death later, that was the real question.

Women writers specifically ... are the ultimate outsiders.

If only we could be back there right now, a soft rain falling, in the cabin, the woodstove.

It's your flaws, not your strengths, that go down in the depths of your books. You're exposed, like dreaming you're naked in a public building.

My heart felt like a balloon that was filling too full, and I panicked. I might get the bends, the way scuba divers did when they surfaced too fast.

Claire smiled with relief that my mother had made the first move. She didn't understand the nature of poisons. My

But I knew one more thing. That people w ho denied who they were or where they had been were in the greatest danger.

That beautiful girl, she was a universe, bearer of these words that rang like gongs, that tumbled like flutes made of human bones.

She shouldn't be allowed to walk around. She might hurt someone.

She was a beautiful woman dragging a crippled foot and I was that foot. I was bricks sewn into the hem of her clothes, I was a steel dress

In stages, that's how. First you let go of the things you loved.

To dare to see is to steal fire from the Gods. This is mankind's destiny, the engine which fuels us as a race.
Three cheers for Eve.

Now it seemed unbelievable, the innocence of a girl in a fairy tale.

I emitted some civetlike female stink, a distinct perfume of sexual wanting, that he had followed to find me here in the dark.

Depression, suffering and anger are all part of being human.

He had loved her, but he hated himself more.

That was how you did it. You let go, you left all that behind, you refused to remember. You let the dark in.

She should think about her own soul, what she was going to do with this funky tattered pond dank item. Dark and stained, a ruined thing.

She was a woman for whom a man would buy a diamond ring or a new car, just to cheer her up.

I felt just the way Billie Holiday sounded, like I'd cried all I could and it wasn't enough.

I've been depressed many times in my life. But under it all I'm an optimist.

He could see the flames in my hair, he knew my lips would scorch him.

What can I say about life? Do I praise it for letting you live, or damn it for allowing the rest?

My perfect day would be to go on a picnic up Mt. Wilson with Christopher Isherwood, Greta Garbo, Aldous Huxley, and Bertrand Russell.

It's all I ever really wanted, that revelation. The possibility of fixed stars.

A cliche is everything you've ever heard of.

The word rattled in my head like rocks in an oatmeal box.

Love could never bloom in a concrete block room.

All that was a dream, you couldn't hold on, you couldn't depend on frosted glass and Debussy.

My mother had been a solitary chef. It was her recreation and her escape.

We stared out at the city that hummed and glittered like a computer chip deep in some unknowable machine, holding its secret like a poker hand

You were my home, Mother. I had no home but you

If sinners where so unhappy, why would they prefer their suffering?
But now I knew why. Without my wounds, who was I?

She would buy magic every day of the week. Love me, that face said. I'm so lonely, so desperate. I'll give you whatever you want.

Most people use twenty verbs to describe everything from a run in their stocking to the explosion of an atomic bomb.

My house is modern, but I like my writing room to be old fashioned. I write on a little wooden secretary desk.

The elegance of a really good screenplay, I admire it. I can't do it.

Honey, this is what happens when you fall in love. You're looking at a natural disaster.

And window, put the plastic Frosty the Snowman on the blacktop, wired up the

Other boys were happy enough to enjoy the show, they just wanted to be entertained in the body's shadow theater.

What happened to a dream without a dreamer?

Don't tell me how you hate your new foster home. If they're not beating you, consider yourself lucky.

They say time heals all wounds but they're lying

There is no God, there is only what you want.

I'm a fish swimming by Ray. Catch me if you want me.

Things touched Claire. Maybe too much, but at least they touched her. She couldn't twist things around in her mind, make the ends come out right.

She's never where she is,' I said. 'She's only inside her head.

Find someone who will tremble for your touch, someone whose fingers are a poem.

How can I shed tears for a man I should never have allowed to touch me in any way?

He reminded me of someone who put your fingers in the door and smiled and talked to you while he smashed them.

This was the wonderful thing about strangers. they were big blank pieces of paper, you could draw watever you like on their impresionable surfaces

She was my life raft, my turtle.

Mainly, it was the sense of order, vision retained over time, that brought me to my knees.

Worth. He made you feel worthwhile. That was his gift.

Dawn tinted the darkness like water ink.

They say drugs are not the answer, but really, what is the question?

A book's flaws make it less predictable.

Once the worst had happened to you, all the rest was just stuff and absence.

Life should always be like this ... Like lingering over a good meal.

I wished I could draw the way her broad-shouldered body threw a shadow on the moonpale dust. How brave she looked just then.

Michael used to draw self-portraits with nightmares hidden in his curls.

How did I get so lost? Mother,

Only peons made excusses for themselves she taught me. Never apologize, never explain.

To them, pain was a country they had heard of, maybe watched a show about on TV, but one whose stamp had not yet been made in their passports.

She was tired, her nerves stripped like wires, the red and white. She felt like a saint with the arrows shit through, she was bleeding to death.

People losing each other, their hands slipping loose in a crowd.

Despair wasn't a guest, you didn't play its favorite music, find it a comfortable chair. Despair was the enemy. It

She was not used to being cruel, but he had taught her how.

I tried writing fiction as a little kid, but had a teacher humiliate me, so didn't write again until I was a senior in college.

purification in fire. public cremation

It was a shrine. Josie hadn't thought to do that. She had no shrine, no candles. She only knew how to kill the thing she loved

Never apologize, never explain.

Beauty said there was something more than just one fucking thing after another. Time could rest for a moment, stop all that senseless motion.