Quote

And I realized as I walked through the neighborhood how each house could contain a completely different reality. In a single block, there could be fifty seperate worlds. Nobody ever really knew what was going on just next door.

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
World
Knew
Fifty
House
Block
Next
Realized
Reality
Door
Ever
Completely
Contain
Different
Doors
Walked
Going
Nobody
Worlds
Really
Single
Neighborhood

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There is no God, there is only what you want.
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One can bear anything. The pain we cannot bear will kill us outright.
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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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The cake had a trick candle that wouldn't go out, so I didn't get my wish. Which was just that it would always be like this, that my life could be a party just for me.
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We recived our colouring from the Norsemen,hairy savages who hacked their gods to pieces and hung the flesh from trees.We are the ones who sacked Rome.Fear only feeble old age and death in bed.Don't forget who you are.
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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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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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Their love as a dragonfly, skimming over echo park, stoppin to visit the lotus. Eating dreams and drinking blue sky.
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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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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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How easy I was. Like a limpet I attached myself to anything, anyone who showed me the least attention.
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I'm a fish swimming by...catch me if you want me.
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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
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Although she was giddy with exhaustion, sleep was a lover who refused to be touched.
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And if there is no god? You act as if there is, and it's the same thing.
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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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I'm incredibly restless. I read a lot of poetry. I also find myself reading the first 20 pages of everything, looking for something. And you know what? I'm usually looking for the book I'm writing. And it's not out there!
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Take my advice. Stay away from all broken people.
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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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without my wounds, who was I? My scars were my face, my past was my life.
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