Quote

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

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
Like
Crosses
Eyelids
Tiny
Dancers
Bird
Dancer
Watches
Closed
Watch
Birds
Eyes
Screen
Dark
Screens
Eye
Cross

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The word rattled in my head like rocks in an oatmeal box.
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This is what happens when you fall in love. You're looking at a natural disaster.
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I felt suddenly cruel, like I´d told dmall children there was no tooth fairy, that it was just their Mom sneaking into their room after they went to bed.
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The best you'll ever do is to understand yourself, know what it is that you want, and not let the cattle stand in your way.
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What can she possibly teach you, twenty seven names for tears?
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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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A cliche is everything you've ever heard of.
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Inside every human being, there is unlimited time and space.
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her scruffy innoscense to impregnate with his dreams. reason was seductive, it gave the appearance of truth
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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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I felt like time was a great sea, and I was floating on the back of a turtle, and no sails broke the horizon.
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She would be half a planet away, floating in a turquoise sea, dancing by moonlight to flamenco guitar.
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Her hatred glittered irresistibly. I could see it, the jewel, it was sapphire, it was the cold lakes of Norway.
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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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His voice was cloves and nightingales, it took us to spice markets in the Celebs, we drifted with him on a houseboat beyond the Coral Sea. We were like cobras following a reed flute.
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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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How could anybody confuse truth with beauty, I thought as I looked at him. Truth came with sunken eyes, bony or scarred, decayed. Its teeth were bad, its hair gray and unkempt. While beauty was empty as a gourd, vain as a parakeet. But it had power. It smelled of musk and oranges and made you close your eyes in a prayer.
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Her fingers moved among barnacles and mussels, blue-black, sharp-edged. Neon red starfish were limp Dalis on the rocks, surrounded by bouquets of stinging anemones and purple bursts of spiny sea urchins.
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