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My hatred gives me strength.

Janet Fitch

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Janet Fitch
Age: 69
Born: 1955
Born: November 9
Author
Journalist
Novelist
University Teacher
Writer
LA
California
Janet Elizabeth Fitch
Hatred
Strength
Gives
Hate
Giving

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Never apologize. Never explain.
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My house is modern, but I like my writing room to be old fashioned. I write on a little wooden secretary desk.
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She would be half a planet away, floating in a turquoise sea, dancing by moonlight to flamenco guitar.
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Life should always be like this. ... Like lingering over a good meal.
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Dawn tinted the darkness like water ink.
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We read so that we can be moved by a new way of looking at things.
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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.
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Let me tell you a few things about regret...There is no end to it. You cannot find the beginning of the chain that brought us from there to here. Should you regret the whole chain, and the air in between, or each link separately as if you could uncouple them? Do you regret the beginning which ended so badly, or just the ending itself?
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It's all I ever really wanted, that revelation. The possibility of fixed stars.
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Always learn poems by heart. They have to become the marrow in your bones. Like fluoride in the water, they'll make your soul impervious to the world's soft decay.
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her scruffy innoscense to impregnate with his dreams. reason was seductive, it gave the appearance of truth
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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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Although she was giddy with exhaustion, sleep was a lover who refused to be touched.
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How can I shed tears for a man I should never have allowed to touch me in any way?
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Isn't it funny.I'm enjoying my hatred so much more than i ever enjoyed love. Love is temperamental. Tiring. It makes demands. Love uses you, changes its mind. But hatred, now, that's something you can use. Sculpt. Wield. It's hard, or soft, however you need it. Love humiliates you, but Hatred cradles you.
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She kissed me on the mouth. Her mouth tasted like iced coffee and cardamom, and I was overwhelmed by the taste, her hot skin and the smell of unwashed hair. I was confused, but not unwilling. I would have let her do anything to me.
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One can bear anything. The pain we cannot bear will kill us outright.
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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.
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I felt like time was a great sea, and I was floating on the back of a turtle, and no sails broke the horizon.
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Now I wish she'd never broken any of her rules. I understood why she held to them so hard. Once you broke the first one, they all broke, one by one, like firecrackers exploding in your face in a parking lot on the Fourth of July.
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