Quote

I wandered through the stacks, running my hands along the spines of the books on the shelves, they reminded me of cultured or opinionated guests at a wonderful party, whispering to each other.

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
Running
Spine
Hands
Reminded
Book
Shelves
Spines
Guests
Stacks
Along
Cultured
Wonderful
Wandered
Books
Opinionated
Party
Whispering

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What can she possibly teach you, twenty seven names for tears?
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He hated crowds, never liked punk. He couldn't handle the nakedness of the rage -his own so sophisticated and finely tuned. He could never see the similarity between himself and Donnie Draino screaming into a mic.
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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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I took the volume to a table, opened its soft, ivory pages... and fell into it as into a pool during dry season.
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She would buy magic every day of the week. Love me, that face said. I'm so lonely, so desperate. I'll give you whatever you want.
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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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She’s never where she is,' I said. 'She’s only inside her head.
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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?
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I was tired of men. Hanging in doorways, standing too close, men who made you love them then changed their minds.
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If I get ideas independently of the act of writing, they never really fit. So for me, there's no hanging out, waiting for inspiration.
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It was only natural to want to destroy something you could never have.
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A person didn’t need to be beautiful, they just needed to be loved. But I couldn’t help wanting it. If that was the way I could be loved, to be beautiful, I’d take it
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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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It's not that he was going nowhere, it's that he'd already arrived.
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I felt like time was a great sea, and I was floating on the back of a turtle, and no sails broke the horizon.
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There is no God, there is only what you want.
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She laughed so easily when she was happy. But also when she was sad.
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The nearest I'd come to feeling anything like God was the plan blue cloudless sky and a certain silence, but how do you pray to that?
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We have no home, she told me. I am your home.
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I felt like an undeveloped photograph that he was printing, my image rising to the surface under his gaze.
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