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I took the volume to a table, opened its soft, ivory pages... and fell into it as into a pool during dry season.

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
Tables
Dry
Seasons
Volume
Pages
Pool
Took
Opened
Soft
Fell
Season
Table
Ivory

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She was not used to being cruel, but he had taught her how.
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purification in fire. public cremation
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In a perverse way, I was glad for the stitches, glad it would show, that there would be scars. What was the point in just being hurt on the inside? It should bloody well show.
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I'm a fish swimming by...catch me if you want me.
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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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Women always put men first. That's how everything got so screwed up.
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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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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.
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My father was an engineer - he wasn't literary, not a writer or a journalist, but he was one of the world's great readers. Every two weeks, he'd take me to our local branch library and pull books off the shelf for me, stacking them up in my arms - 'Have you read this? And this? And this?
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A cliche is like a coin that has been handled too much. Once language has been overly handled, it no longer leaves a clear imprint.
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like a kid kicked out of class. humiliated and free.
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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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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.
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No matter how unappealing, each of them imagines he is somehow worthy.
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How easy I was. Like a limpet I attached myself to anything, anyone who showed me the least attention.
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We don't have a unitary society anymore, you know it's very fragmented. I look up and down my block in Silverlake and there is a different universe in every house.
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A cliche is everything you've ever heard of.
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Let me tell you a few things about regret...There is no end to it. You cannot find the beginning of the chain that brought us from there to here. Should you regret the whole chain, and the air in between, or each link separately as if you could uncouple them? Do you regret the beginning which ended so badly, or just the ending itself?
Janet Fitch
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What is real is always worth it.
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I was tired of men. Hanging in doorways, standing too close, men who made you love them then changed their minds.
Janet Fitch