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

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A novel is like a dream in which everyone is you. They’re all parts of yourself.
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My hatred gives me strength.
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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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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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It's all I ever really wanted, that revelation. The possibility of fixed stars.
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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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Writing mirrors the interior self. You know, any book is like the perfect blueprint of the psyche of the author.
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Their love as a dragonfly, skimming over echo park, stoppin to visit the lotus. Eating dreams and drinking blue sky.
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The nearest I'd come to feeling anything like God was the plan blue cloudless sky and a certain silence, but how do you pray to that?
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My house is modern, but I like my writing room to be old fashioned. I write on a little wooden secretary desk.
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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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She’s never where she is,' I said. 'She’s only inside her head.
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They say drugs are not the answer, but really, what is the question?
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At every moment, each instrument knew what to play. Its little bit. But none could see the whole thing like this, all at once, only its own part. Just like life. Each person was like a line of music, but nobody knew what the symphony sounded like. Only the conductor had the whole score.
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How can I shed tears for a man I should never have allowed to touch me in any way?
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Remember...we don't see objects, we see light. [...] Light can do anything water can do--flow, wash, trickle. It can do anything an artist can do--paint, burnish, carve. Candlelight falls, licks a face. There is always light in a room.
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And I realized as I walked through the neighborhood how each house could contain a completely different reality. In a single block, there could be fifty seperate worlds. Nobody ever really knew what was going on just next door.
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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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