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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?

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
Suffering
Without
Would
Sinners
Sinner
Wounds
Prefer
Unhappy
Knew

More quotes by Janet Fitch

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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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like a kid kicked out of class. humiliated and free.
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That kind of tenderness couldn't be permitted to last. You only got a taste, enough to know what perfection meant, and then you paid for it the rest of your life. Like the guy chained to a rock, who stole fire. The gods made an eagle eat his liver for all eternity. You paid for every second of beauty you managed to steal.
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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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Her fingers moved among barnacles and mussels, blue-black, sharp-edged. Neon red starfish were limp Dalis on the rocks, surrounded by bouquets of stinging anemones and purple bursts of spiny sea urchins.
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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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Inside every human being, there is unlimited time and space.
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You paid for every second of beauty you managed to steal.
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echo, the death of a sound that had nowhere to go but to come back.
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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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I use my fiction to explore my own unconscious issues. I usually don't even know what's going on with me until I'm writing.
Janet Fitch
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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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She’s never where she is,' I said. 'She’s only inside her head.
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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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here, here is my dark world. you carry it for a change. im out
Janet Fitch
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Find someone who will tremble for your touch, someone whose fingers are a poem.
Janet Fitch
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Writing mirrors the interior self. You know, any book is like the perfect blueprint of the psyche of the author.
Janet Fitch
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What happened to a dream without a dreamer?
Janet Fitch
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Dawn tinted the darkness like water ink.
Janet Fitch
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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.
Janet Fitch