Quote

I was always mortified.Didn't they know they were tying thier mothers to the ground? Weren't chains ashamed of their prisoners?

Janet Fitch

Change background

T
T
T

Change font

TAGS & TOPICS

Janet Fitch
Age: 69
Born: 1955
Born: November 9
Author
Journalist
Novelist
University Teacher
Writer
LA
California
Janet Elizabeth Fitch
Ground
Mortified
Mother
Tying
Didn
Prisoners
Always
Prisoner
Mothers
Chains
Ashamed
Weren
Thier

More quotes by Janet Fitch

Image
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.
Janet Fitch
Image
Whenever she thought she could not feel more alone, the universe peeled back another layer of darkness.
Janet Fitch
Image
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.
Janet Fitch
Image
Never apologize. Never explain.
Janet Fitch
Image
echo, the death of a sound that had nowhere to go but to come back.
Janet Fitch
Image
Death like a lover, caressing him, promising him peace, running its fingers through his hair, its tongue in his ear. She put her own two fingers in her mouth. Im so sorry. And pulled the trigger
Janet Fitch
Image
A cliche is like a coin that has been handled too much. Once language has been overly handled, it no longer leaves a clear imprint.
Janet Fitch
Image
This is what happens when you fall in love. You're looking at a natural disaster.
Janet Fitch
Image
The word rattled in my head like rocks in an oatmeal box.
Janet Fitch
Image
I felt like time was a great sea, and I was floating on the back of a turtle, and no sails broke the horizon.
Janet Fitch
Image
We strive for beauty and balance, the sensual over the sentimental.
Janet Fitch
Image
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.
Janet Fitch
Image
Her hatred glittered irresistibly. I could see it, the jewel, it was sapphire, it was the cold lakes of Norway.
Janet Fitch
Image
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.
Janet Fitch
Image
Appealing to the five senses is the feature that will always set writing apart from the visual media. A good writer will tell us what the world smells like, what the textures are, what the sounds are, what the light looks like, what the weather is.
Janet Fitch
Image
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.
Janet Fitch
Image
She’s never where she is,' I said. 'She’s only inside her head.
Janet Fitch
Image
My house is modern, but I like my writing room to be old fashioned. I write on a little wooden secretary desk.
Janet Fitch
Image
I felt like an undeveloped photograph that he was printing, my image rising to the surface under his gaze.
Janet Fitch
Image
I was tired of men. Hanging in doorways, standing too close, men who made you love them then changed their minds.
Janet Fitch