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We have no home, she told me. I am your home.

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
Told
Home

More quotes by Janet Fitch

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Never apologize. Never explain.
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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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she’s not as pretty as you,” I said “But she’s a simpler girl,” my mother whispered.
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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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You can't shape me anymore. I am the uncontrolled element, the random act. I am forward movement in time. You think you can see me? Then tell me, who am I? You don't know.
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I closed my eyes to watch tiny dancers like jeweled birds cross the dark screen of my eyelids.
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What happened to a dream without a dreamer?
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Depression, suffering and anger are all part of being human.
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The best you'll ever do is to understand yourself, know what it is that you want, and not let the cattle stand in your way.
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Whenever she turned her steep focus to me, I felt the warmth that flowers must feel when they bloom through the snow, under the first concentrated rays of the sun.
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I wish my life could be like that, knotted up so that even if something broke, the whole thing wouldn't come apart.
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That was what she really wanted. To forget so thoroughly she'd never have another memory again, the bitter so bitter you gave up the sweet.
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Women always put men first. That's how everything got so screwed up.
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No matter how unappealing, each of them imagines he is somehow worthy.
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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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There is no God, there is only what you want.
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.
Janet Fitch
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A womans mistakes are different from a girls
Janet Fitch
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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?
Janet Fitch