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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To make films, you have to have boundless energy you have to work and play with others really, really well, and I'm really a more contemplative kind of person. I like to sit at home and think, a lot.
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Find someone who will tremble for your touch, someone whose fingers are a poem.
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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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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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Remember it all, every insult, every tear. Tattoo it on the inside of your mind. In life, knowledge of poisons is essential. I've told you, nobody becomes an artist unless they have to.
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She kissed me on the mouth. Her mouth tasted like iced coffee and cardamom, and I was overwhelmed by the taste, her hot skin and the smell of unwashed hair. I was confused, but not unwilling. I would have let her do anything to me.
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like a kid kicked out of class. humiliated and free.
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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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How vast was a human being's capacity for suffering. The only thing you could do was stand in awe of it. It wasn't a question of survival at all. It was the fullness of it, how much could you hold, how much could you care.
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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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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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I've been depressed many times in my life. But under it all I'm an optimist.
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Inside every human being, there is unlimited time and space.
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I closed my eyes to watch tiny dancers like jeweled birds cross the dark screen of my eyelids.
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You must find a boy your own age. Someone mild and beautiful to be your lover. Someone who will tremble for your touch, offer you a marguerite by its long stem with his eyes lowered. Someone whose fingers are a poem.
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We have no home, she told me. I am your home.
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Panic was the worst thing. When you panicked, you couldn't see possibilities. Then came despair.
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They dream of men with gentle hands, eloquent with tenderness, fingers that brushed along a cheek, that outlined open lips in the lovers' braille. Hands that sculpted sweetness from sullen flesh, that traced breast and ignited hips, opening, kneading. Flesh becomes bread in the heat of those hands, braided and rising.
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We read so that we can be moved by a new way of looking at things.
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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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