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echo, the death of a sound that had nowhere to go but to come back.

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
Echo
Echoes
Nowhere
Sound
Death
Back
Come

More quotes by Janet Fitch

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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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I thought of my mother as Queen Christina, cool and sad, eyes trained on some distant horizon. That was where she belonged, in furs and palaces of rare treasures, fireplaces large enough to roast a reindeer, ships of Swedish maple.
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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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Inside every human being, there is unlimited time and space.
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She laughed so easily when she was happy. But also when she was sad.
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Dawn tinted the darkness like water ink.
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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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Don't hoard the past. Don't cherish anything. Burn it. The artist is the phoenix who burns to emerge.
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What was beauty unless you intended to use it, like a hammer, or a key? It was just something for other people to use and admire, or envy, despise. To nail their dreams onto like a picture hanger on a blank wall. And so many girls saying, use me, dream me.
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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.
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without my wounds, who was I? My scars were my face, my past was my life.
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But I knew one more thing. That people w ho denied who they were or where they had been were in the greatest danger.
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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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If sinners where so unhappy, why would they prefer their suffering? But now I knew why. Without my wounds, who was I?
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Who are you? the band sang. I tried to remember but I really couldn't say.
Janet Fitch
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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?
Janet Fitch
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Your protagonist is your reader’s portal into the story. The more observant he or she can be, the more vivid will be the world you’re creating. They don’t have to be super-educated, they just have to be mentally active. Keep them looking, thinking, wondering, remembering.
Janet Fitch
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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.
Janet Fitch
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What happened to a dream without a dreamer?
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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.
Janet Fitch