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purification in fire. public cremation

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
Purification
Fire
Public
Cremation

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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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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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Depression, suffering and anger are all part of being human.
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The story of her life. God gave you everything just to take it away. Just so you knew exactly what you were missing.
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One can bear anything. The pain we cannot bear will kill us outright.
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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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A womans mistakes are different from a girls
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Who are you? the band sang. I tried to remember but I really couldn't say.
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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 was tired of men. Hanging in doorways, standing too close, men who made you love them then changed their minds.
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We strive for beauty and balance, the sensual over the sentimental.
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Inside every human being, there is unlimited time and space.
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I decided that if I was never going to sell anything as long as I lived, I might as well do what I want to do 'cause then at least I would've done what I wanted to do in life. What's that worth?
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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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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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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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she’s not as pretty as you,” I said “But she’s a simpler girl,” my mother whispered.
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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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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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