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Panic was the worst thing. When you panicked, you couldn't see possibilities. Then came despair.

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
Possibility
Couldn
Worst
Came
Thing
Panicked
Panic
Possibilities
Despair

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A cliche is everything you've ever heard of.
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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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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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When I read, I want to be fully transported to another place. I want to feel things, smell things.
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Find someone who will tremble for your touch, someone whose fingers are a poem.
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Women always put men first. That's how everything got so screwed up.
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Her hatred glittered irresistibly. I could see it, the jewel, it was sapphire, it was the cold lakes of Norway.
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Whenever she turned her steep focus to me, I felt the warmth that flowers must feel when they bloom through the snow, under the first concentrated rays of the sun.
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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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There is no God, there is only what you want.
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I imagined my soul taking in these words like silicated water in the Petrified Forest, turning my wood to patterned agate. I liked it when my mother shaped me this way. I thought clay must feel happy in the good potter's hand.
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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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Always learn poems by heart. They have to become the marrow in your bones. Like fluoride in the water, they'll make your soul impervious to the world's soft decay.
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Pick a better verb. Most people use twenty verbs to describe everything from a run in their stocking to the explosion of an A-bomb.
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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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her scruffy innoscense to impregnate with his dreams. reason was seductive, it gave the appearance of truth
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Girls were born knowing how destructive the truth could be. They learned to hold it in, tamp it down, like gunpowder in an old fashioned gun. Then it exploded in your face on a November day in the rain.
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Isn't it funny.I'm enjoying my hatred so much more than i ever enjoyed love. Love is temperamental. Tiring. It makes demands. Love uses you, changes its mind. But hatred, now, that's something you can use. Sculpt. Wield. It's hard, or soft, however you need it. Love humiliates you, but Hatred cradles you.
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Who are you? the band sang. I tried to remember but I really couldn't say.
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I wish my life could be like that, knotted up so that even if something broke, the whole thing wouldn't come apart.
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