Quote

Whenever she turned her steep focus to me, I felt the warmth that flowers must feel when they bloom through the snow, under the first concentrated rays of the sun.

Janet Fitch

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Janet Fitch
Age: 68
Born: 1955
Born: November 9
Author
Journalist
Novelist
University Teacher
Writer
LA
California
Janet Elizabeth Fitch
First
Snow
Feel
Whenever
Must
Turned
Steep
Feels
Sun
Concentrated
Flower
Bloom
Focus
Rays
Felt
Warmth
Firsts
Flowers

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Girls were born knowing how destructive the truth could be. They learned to hold it in, tamp it down, like gunpowder in an old fashioned gun. Then it exploded in your face on a November day in the rain.
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Never apologize. Never explain.
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It's not that he was going nowhere, it's that he'd already arrived.
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I thought how tenuous the links were between mother and children between friends family things you think are eternal. Everything could be lost more easily than anyone could imagine.
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They dream of men with gentle hands, eloquent with tenderness, fingers that brushed along a cheek, that outlined open lips in the lovers' braille. Hands that sculpted sweetness from sullen flesh, that traced breast and ignited hips, opening, kneading. Flesh becomes bread in the heat of those hands, braided and rising.
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He hated crowds, never liked punk. He couldn't handle the nakedness of the rage -his own so sophisticated and finely tuned. He could never see the similarity between himself and Donnie Draino screaming into a mic.
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We recived our colouring from the Norsemen,hairy savages who hacked their gods to pieces and hung the flesh from trees.We are the ones who sacked Rome.Fear only feeble old age and death in bed.Don't forget who you are.
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I emitted some civetlike female stink, a distinct perfume of sexual wanting, that he had followed to find me here in the dark.
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she’s not as pretty as you,” I said “But she’s a simpler girl,” my mother whispered.
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like a kid kicked out of class. humiliated and free.
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without my wounds, who was I? My scars were my face, my past was my life.
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You paid for every second of beauty you managed to steal.
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Isn't it funny.I'm enjoying my hatred so much more than i ever enjoyed love. Love is temperamental. Tiring. It makes demands. Love uses you, changes its mind. But hatred, now, that's something you can use. Sculpt. Wield. It's hard, or soft, however you need it. Love humiliates you, but Hatred cradles you.
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She laughed so easily when she was happy. But also when she was sad.
Janet Fitch
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Who are you? the band sang. I tried to remember but I really couldn't say.
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Panic was the worst thing. When you panicked, you couldn't see possibilities. Then came despair.
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Being in the library is so addictive for me that I really have to exercise self-control so I can get some writing done at home.
Janet Fitch
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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.
Janet Fitch
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Appealing to the five senses is the feature that will always set writing apart from the visual media. A good writer will tell us what the world smells like, what the textures are, what the sounds are, what the light looks like, what the weather is.
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history only existed in the human mind, subject to endless revision. 'each man kills the thing he loves'-Oscar Wilde. You kill it before it kills you, but he was wrong. you killed it by accident. thinking you were doing something else. shattering, when all you wanted to do was keep it safe.
Janet Fitch