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Who are you? the band sang. I tried to remember but I really couldn't say.

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
Sang
Tried
Couldn
Band
Remember
Really

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Love could never bloom in a concrete block room.
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I could hear the icy winds of Sweden, but he didn't seem to feel the chill.
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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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How could anybody confuse truth with beauty, I thought as I looked at him. Truth came with sunken eyes, bony or scarred, decayed. Its teeth were bad, its hair gray and unkempt. While 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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I felt suddenly cruel, like I´d told dmall children there was no tooth fairy, that it was just their Mom sneaking into their room after they went to bed.
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It was only natural to want to destroy something you could never have.
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Never apologize. Never explain.
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Find someone who will tremble for your touch, someone whose fingers are a poem.
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My hatred gives me strength.
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But I knew one more thing. That people w ho denied who they were or where they had been were in the greatest danger.
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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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Whenever she thought she could not feel more alone, the universe peeled back another layer of darkness.
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like a kid kicked out of class. humiliated and free.
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I almost said, you're not broken, you're just going through something. But i couldn't. She knew. There was something terribly wrong with her, all the way inside. She was like a big diamond with a dead spot in the middle. I was supposed to breathe life into that dead spot, but it hadn't worked.
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She should think about her own soul, what she was going to do with this funky tattered pond dank item. Dark and stained, a ruined thing.
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Women always put men first. That's how everything got so screwed up.
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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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There is no God, there is only what you want.
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purification in fire. public cremation
Janet Fitch
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Remember...we don't see objects, we see light. [...] Light can do anything water can do--flow, wash, trickle. It can do anything an artist can do--paint, burnish, carve. Candlelight falls, licks a face. There is always light in a room.
Janet Fitch