Janet Fitch Quotes
Top 100 wise famous quotes and sayings by Janet Fitch
Janet Fitch Famous Quotes & Sayings
Discover top inspirational quotes from Janet Fitch on Wise Famous Quotes.
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.
I've always been concerned with what happens to children in our society when there's nobody left to take care of them.
His guitar bore his longing up into the darkness like sparks, a music profound in its objectless desire, beautiful beyond solace or solution
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
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.
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 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
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.
Three cheers for Eve.
I emitted some civetlike female stink, a distinct perfume of sexual wanting, that he had followed to find me here in the dark.
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.
My perfect day would be to go on a picnic up Mt. Wilson with Christopher Isherwood, Greta Garbo, Aldous Huxley, and Bertrand Russell.
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
If sinners where so unhappy, why would they prefer their suffering?
But now I knew why. Without my wounds, who was I?
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.
Other boys were happy enough to enjoy the show, they just wanted to be entertained in the body's shadow theater.
Don't tell me how you hate your new foster home. If they're not beating you, consider yourself lucky.
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.
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
I wished I could draw the way her broad-shouldered body threw a shadow on the moonpale dust. How brave she looked just then.
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.
Despair wasn't a guest, you didn't play its favorite music, find it a comfortable chair. Despair was the enemy. It
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.