Quote

I thought how tenuous the links were between mother and children between friends family things you think are eternal. Everything could be lost more easily than anyone could imagine.

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
Lost
Tenuous
Mother
Links
Thought
Easily
Everything
Eternal
Children
Imagine
Things
Anyone
Think
Friends
Thinking
Family

More quotes by Janet Fitch

Image
This is what happens when you fall in love. You're looking at a natural disaster.
Janet Fitch
Image
How easy I was. Like a limpet I attached myself to anything, anyone who showed me the least attention.
Janet Fitch
Image
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.
Janet Fitch
Image
Whenever she thought she could not feel more alone, the universe peeled back another layer of darkness.
Janet Fitch
Image
I closed my eyes to watch tiny dancers like jeweled birds cross the dark screen of my eyelids.
Janet Fitch
Image
We have no home, she told me. I am your home.
Janet Fitch
Image
I couldn't imagine owning beauty like my mothers. I wouldn't dare.
Janet Fitch
Image
I'm incredibly restless. I read a lot of poetry. I also find myself reading the first 20 pages of everything, looking for something. And you know what? I'm usually looking for the book I'm writing. And it's not out there!
Janet Fitch
Image
She would be half a planet away, floating in a turquoise sea, dancing by moonlight to flamenco guitar.
Janet Fitch
Image
It was only natural to want to destroy something you could never have.
Janet Fitch
Image
I decided that if I was never going to sell anything as long as I lived, I might as well do what I want to do 'cause then at least I would've done what I wanted to do in life. What's that worth?
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
They dream of men with gentle hands, eloquent with tenderness, fingers that brushed along a cheek, that outlined open lips in the lovers' braille. Hands that sculpted sweetness from sullen flesh, that traced breast and ignited hips, opening, kneading. Flesh becomes bread in the heat of those hands, braided and rising.
Janet Fitch
Image
Love could never bloom in a concrete block room.
Janet Fitch
Image
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
Image
The sound of her laughter was sticky as sap, the smell of night-blooming jasmine soft as a milk bath.
Janet Fitch
Image
purification in fire. public cremation
Janet Fitch
Image
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.
Janet Fitch
Image
The story of her life. God gave you everything just to take it away. Just so you knew exactly what you were missing.
Janet Fitch
Image
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.
Janet Fitch