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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
Giving
Hatred
Strength
Gives
Hate

More quotes by Janet Fitch

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Dawn tinted the darkness like water ink.
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His voice was cloves and nightingales, it took us to spice markets in the Celebs, we drifted with him on a houseboat beyond the Coral Sea. We were like cobras following a reed flute.
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this was the wonderful thing about strangers. they were big blank pieces of paper, you could draw watever you like on their impresionable surfaces
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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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She would be half a planet away, floating in a turquoise sea, dancing by moonlight to flamenco guitar.
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If I get ideas independently of the act of writing, they never really fit. So for me, there's no hanging out, waiting for inspiration.
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.
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A cliche is everything you've ever heard of.
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Memory is the fourth dimension to any landscape.
Janet Fitch
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At every moment, each instrument knew what to play. Its little bit. But none could see the whole thing like this, all at once, only its own part. Just like life. Each person was like a line of music, but nobody knew what the symphony sounded like. Only the conductor had the whole score.
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How easy I was. Like a limpet I attached myself to anything, anyone who showed me the least attention.
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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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Although she was giddy with exhaustion, sleep was a lover who refused to be touched.
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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.
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What can she possibly teach you, twenty seven names for tears?
Janet Fitch
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I wandered through the stacks, running my hands along the spines of the books on the shelves, they reminded me of cultured or opinionated guests at a wonderful party, whispering to each other.
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I imagined my soul taking in these words like silicated water in the Petrified Forest, turning my wood to patterned agate. I liked it when my mother shaped me this way. I thought clay must feel happy in the good potter's hand.
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The word rattled in my head like rocks in an oatmeal box.
Janet Fitch
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This is what happens when you fall in love. You're looking at a natural disaster.
Janet Fitch
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What happened to a dream without a dreamer?
Janet Fitch