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: 69
Born: 1955
Born: November 9
Author
Journalist
Novelist
University Teacher
Writer
LA
California
Janet Elizabeth Fitch
Along
Cultured
Wonderful
Wandered
Books
Opinionated
Party
Whispering
Running
Spine
Hands
Reminded
Book
Shelves
Spines
Guests
Stacks

More quotes by Janet Fitch

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The story of her life. God gave you everything just to take it away. Just so you knew exactly what you were missing.
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Who was I, really? I was the sole occupant of my mother's totalitarian state, my own personal history rewritten to fit the story she was telling that day. There were so many missing pieces. I was starting to find some of them, working my way upriver, collecting a secret cache of broken memories in a shoebox.
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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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Don't hoard the past. Don't cherish anything. Burn it. The artist is the phoenix who burns to emerge.
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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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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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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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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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How can I shed tears for a man I should never have allowed to touch me in any way?
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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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What can she possibly teach you, twenty seven names for tears?
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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
Janet Fitch
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purification in fire. public cremation
Janet Fitch
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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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You paid for every second of beauty you managed to steal.
Janet Fitch
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In a perverse way, I was glad for the stitches, glad it would show, that there would be scars. What was the point in just being hurt on the inside? It should bloody well show.
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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.
Janet Fitch
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Love could never bloom in a concrete block room.
Janet Fitch
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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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Writing mirrors the interior self. You know, any book is like the perfect blueprint of the psyche of the author.
Janet Fitch