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I felt like an undeveloped photograph that he was printing, my image rising to the surface under his gaze.

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
Photograph
Surface
Image
Felt
Like
Undeveloped
Printing
Gaze
Rising

More quotes by Janet Fitch

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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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echo, the death of a sound that had nowhere to go but to come back.
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We strive for beauty and balance, the sensual over the sentimental.
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We read so that we can be moved by a new way of looking at things.
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Never apologize. Never explain.
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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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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.
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What is real is always worth it.
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Once you get below the floor of our personal identities, we're all connected. Perhaps that's why we can move into others' lives.
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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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I wandered through the stacks, running my hands along the spines of the books on the shelves, they reminded me of cultured or opinionated guests at a wonderful party, whispering to each other.
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like a kid kicked out of class. humiliated and free.
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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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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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I've been depressed many times in my life. But under it all I'm an optimist.
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Life should always be like this. ... Like lingering over a good meal.
Janet Fitch
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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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They say drugs are not the answer, but really, what is the question?
Janet Fitch
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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.
Janet Fitch
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How can I shed tears for a man I should never have allowed to touch me in any way?
Janet Fitch