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I couldn't imagine owning beauty like my mothers. I wouldn't dare.

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
Imagine
Beauty
Mother
Owning
Like
Mothers
Dare
Mom
Couldn
Wouldn

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To know I was beautiful in his eyes made me beautiful.
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This is what happens when you fall in love. You're looking at a natural disaster.
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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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Life should always be like this. ... Like lingering over a good meal.
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A womans mistakes are different from a girls
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We don't have a unitary society anymore, you know it's very fragmented. I look up and down my block in Silverlake and there is a different universe in every house.
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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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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
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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.
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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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I was always mortified.Didn't they know they were tying thier mothers to the ground? Weren't chains ashamed of their prisoners?
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Although she was giddy with exhaustion, sleep was a lover who refused to be touched.
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Do you ever want to go home?' I asked Paul. He brushed an ash from my face. 'It's the century of the displaced person,' he said. 'You can never go home.
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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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The word rattled in my head like rocks in an oatmeal box.
Janet Fitch
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Panic was the worst thing. When you panicked, you couldn't see possibilities. Then came despair.
Janet Fitch
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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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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.
Janet Fitch
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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.
Janet Fitch
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We read so that we can be moved by a new way of looking at things.
Janet Fitch