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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.
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
Wish
Come
Oleanders
Whole
Knotted
Even
Knots
Thing
Broke
Something
Apart
Life
Wouldn
Like
Security
More quotes by Janet Fitch
I understood why she did it. At that moment I knew why people tagged graffiti on the walls of neat little houses and scratched the paint on new cars and beat up well-tended children. It was only natural to want to destroy something you could never have.
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Being in the library is so addictive for me that I really have to exercise self-control so I can get some writing done at home.
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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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Find someone who will tremble for your touch, someone whose fingers are a poem.
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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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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?
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We read so that we can be moved by a new way of looking at things.
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To make films, you have to have boundless energy you have to work and play with others really, really well, and I'm really a more contemplative kind of person. I like to sit at home and think, a lot.
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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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What happened to a dream without a dreamer?
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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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To know I was beautiful in his eyes made me beautiful.
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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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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.
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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.
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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!
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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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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.
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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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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.
Janet Fitch
