Quote

Now I wish she'd never broken any of her rules. I understood why she held to them so hard. Once you broke the first one, they all broke, one by one, like firecrackers exploding in your face in a parking lot on the Fourth of July.

Janet Fitch

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TAGS & TOPICS

Janet Fitch
Age: 69
Born: 1955
Born: November 9
Author
Journalist
Novelist
University Teacher
Writer
LA
California
Janet Elizabeth Fitch
Face
Parking
Faces
July
Wish
Fourth
Firsts
Broke
First
Held
Firecrackers
Hard
Rules
Oleanders
Never
Understood
Firecracker
Like
Broken
Exploding

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A cliche is everything you've ever heard of.
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The best you'll ever do is to understand yourself, know what it is that you want, and not let the cattle stand in your way.
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She was a beautiful woman dragging a crippled foot and I was that foot. I was bricks sewn into the hem of her clothes, I was a steel dress
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One can bear anything. The pain we cannot bear will kill us outright.
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This is what happens when you fall in love. You're looking at a natural disaster.
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Being in the library is so addictive for me that I really have to exercise self-control so I can get some writing done at home.
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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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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.
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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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A novel is like a dream in which everyone is you. They’re all parts of yourself.
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I'm a fish swimming by...catch me if you want me.
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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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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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Beauty was deceptive. I would rather wear my pain, my ugliness. I was torn and stitched. I was a strip mine, and they would just have to look. I hoped I made them sick. I hoped they saw me in their dreams.
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like a kid kicked out of class. humiliated and free.
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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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No matter how unappealing, each of them imagines he is somehow worthy.
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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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Wasn't that the way it always was? You didn't know, you couldn't tell, you just let it happen... Perhaps they didn't know themselves. Sometimes the line was very fine.
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The sound of her laughter was sticky as sap, the smell of night-blooming jasmine soft as a milk bath.
Janet Fitch