Quote

Death like a lover, caressing him, promising him peace, running its fingers through his hair, its tongue in his ear. She put her own two fingers in her mouth. Im so sorry. And pulled the trigger

Janet Fitch

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Janet Fitch
Age: 69
Born: 1955
Born: November 9
Author
Journalist
Novelist
University Teacher
Writer
LA
California
Janet Elizabeth Fitch
Two
Lovers
Promising
Like
Fingers
Trigger
Sorry
Triggers
Ears
Pulled
Hair
Lover
Peace
Mouth
Death
Tongue
Running
Mouths
Caressing

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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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Love could never bloom in a concrete block room.
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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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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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without my wounds, who was I? My scars were my face, my past was my life.
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Do you ever want to go home?' I asked Paul. He brushed an ash from my face. 'It's the century of the displaced person,' he said. 'You can never go home.
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I wanted to hear what she was saying. I wanted to smell that burnt midnight again, I wanted to feel that wind. It was a secret wanting, like a song I couldn't stop humming, or loving someone I could never have. No matter where I went, my compass pointed west. I would always know what time it was in California.
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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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There is no God, there is only what you want.
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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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It's not that he was going nowhere, it's that he'd already arrived.
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We read so that we can be moved by a new way of looking at things.
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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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I wondered where he was now whether I would ever hear him again. Whether someone would love him, someday show him what beauty mean't.
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When I start writing, my unconscious, my conflicts, my thoughts all start to come up. So for me, writing is an exploration. I never know how my stories will end.
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It's all I ever really wanted, that revelation. The possibility of fixed stars.
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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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purification in fire. public cremation
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This is what happens when you fall in love. You're looking at a natural disaster.
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When you're a little kid, you are small, your life is small - and you're terrifically aware of that. But when you read, you can ride Arabian horses across the desert, you can be a dogsledder.
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