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I thought of my mother as Queen Christina, cool and sad, eyes trained on some distant horizon. That was where she belonged, in furs and palaces of rare treasures, fireplaces large enough to roast a reindeer, ships of Swedish maple.
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
Enough
Ships
Treasures
Reindeer
Treasure
Palaces
Fireplaces
Cool
Distant
Christina
Large
Queen
Roast
Eyes
Trained
Maple
Eye
Queens
Swedish
Mother
Horizon
Fur
Thought
Rare
Belonged
Furs
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The sound of her laughter was sticky as sap, the smell of night-blooming jasmine soft as a milk bath.
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Take my advice. Stay away from all broken people.
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Beauty was deceptive. I would rather wear my pain, my ugliness. I was torn and stitched. I was a strip mine, and they would just have to look. I hoped I made them sick. I hoped they saw me in their dreams.
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You must find a boy your own age. Someone mild and beautiful to be your lover. Someone who will tremble for your touch, offer you a marguerite by its long stem with his eyes lowered. Someone whose fingers are a poem.
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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.
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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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And if there is no god? You act as if there is, and it's the same thing.
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Death like a lover, caressing him, promising him peace, running its fingers through his hair, its tongue in his ear. She put her own two fingers in her mouth. Im so sorry. And pulled the trigger
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When you're a little kid, you are small, your life is small - and you're terrifically aware of that. But when you read, you can ride Arabian horses across the desert, you can be a dogsledder.
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Aquamarines grew with emeralds, Claire told me. But emeralds were fragile and always broke into smaller pieces, while aquamarines were stronger, grew in huge crystals without any trouble, so they weren't worth as much. It was the emerald that didn't break that was the really valuable thing.
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Depression, suffering and anger are all part of being human.
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I was always mortified.Didn't they know they were tying thier mothers to the ground? Weren't chains ashamed of their prisoners?
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Memory is the fourth dimension to any landscape.
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I'm incredibly restless. I read a lot of poetry. I also find myself reading the first 20 pages of everything, looking for something. And you know what? I'm usually looking for the book I'm writing. And it's not out there!
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like a kid kicked out of class. humiliated and free.
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It's all I ever really wanted, that revelation. The possibility of fixed stars.
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She’s never where she is,' I said. 'She’s only inside her head.
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There is no God, there is only what you want.
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It was only natural to want to destroy something you could never have.
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Although she was giddy with exhaustion, sleep was a lover who refused to be touched.
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