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No matter how unappealing, each of them imagines he is somehow worthy.

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
Unappealing
Imagines
Somehow
Worthy
Imagine
Matter

More quotes by Janet Fitch

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without my wounds, who was I? My scars were my face, my past was my life.
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...The men eyed her with the automatic mix of curiosity, lust, and aesthetic judgment they always gave young women, subject to object, the way you'd stare at an animal. She pretended not to notice. To remind them she was a person was too much effort. Objects bore no guilt.
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I felt like an undeveloped photograph that he was printing, my image rising to the surface under his gaze.
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Writing mirrors the interior self. You know, any book is like the perfect blueprint of the psyche of the author.
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Memory is the fourth dimension to any landscape.
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I felt suddenly cruel, like I´d told dmall children there was no tooth fairy, that it was just their Mom sneaking into their room after they went to bed.
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What was beauty unless you intended to use it, like a hammer, or a key? It was just something for other people to use and admire, or envy, despise. To nail their dreams onto like a picture hanger on a blank wall. And so many girls saying, use me, dream me.
Janet Fitch
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I almost said, you're not broken, you're just going through something. But i couldn't. She knew. There was something terribly wrong with her, all the way inside. She was like a big diamond with a dead spot in the middle. I was supposed to breathe life into that dead spot, but it hadn't worked.
Janet Fitch
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Women always put men first. That's how everything got so screwed up.
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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.
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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The nearest I'd come to feeling anything like God was the plan blue cloudless sky and a certain silence, but how do you pray to that?
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My hatred gives me strength.
Janet Fitch
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Aquamarines grew with emeralds, Claire told me. But emeralds were fragile and always broke into smaller pieces, while aquamarines were stronger, grew in huge crystals without any trouble, so they weren't worth as much. It was the emerald that didn't break that was the really valuable thing.
Janet Fitch
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How could anybody confuse truth with beauty, I thought as I looked at him. Truth came with sunken eyes, bony or scarred, decayed. Its teeth were bad, its hair gray and unkempt. While beauty was empty as a gourd, vain as a parakeet. But it had power. It smelled of musk and oranges and made you close your eyes in a prayer.
Janet Fitch
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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
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Her fingers moved among barnacles and mussels, blue-black, sharp-edged. Neon red starfish were limp Dalis on the rocks, surrounded by bouquets of stinging anemones and purple bursts of spiny sea urchins.
Janet Fitch
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The cake had a trick candle that wouldn't go out, so I didn't get my wish. Which was just that it would always be like this, that my life could be a party just for me.
Janet Fitch
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What can she possibly teach you, twenty seven names for tears?
Janet Fitch
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I wondered where he was now whether I would ever hear him again. Whether someone would love him, someday show him what beauty mean't.
Janet Fitch