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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: 69
Born: 1955
Born: November 9
Author
Journalist
Novelist
University Teacher
Writer
LA
California
Janet Elizabeth Fitch
Come
Oleanders
Whole
Knotted
Even
Knots
Thing
Broke
Something
Apart
Life
Wouldn
Like
Security
Wish
More quotes by Janet Fitch
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.
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She’s never where she is,' I said. 'She’s only inside her head.
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How vast was a human being's capacity for suffering. The only thing you could do was stand in awe of it. It wasn't a question of survival at all. It was the fullness of it, how much could you hold, how much could you care.
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The word rattled in my head like rocks in an oatmeal box.
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Remember...we don't see objects, we see light. [...] Light can do anything water can do--flow, wash, trickle. It can do anything an artist can do--paint, burnish, carve. Candlelight falls, licks a face. There is always light in a room.
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I'm a fish swimming by...catch me if you want me.
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echo, the death of a sound that had nowhere to go but to come back.
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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.
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We read so that we can be moved by a new way of looking at things.
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Whenever she thought she could not feel more alone, the universe peeled back another layer of darkness.
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A cliché is like a coin that has been handled too much. Once language has been overly handled, it no longer leaves a clear imprint.
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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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Writing mirrors the interior self. You know, any book is like the perfect blueprint of the psyche of the author.
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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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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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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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Women always put men first. That's how everything got so screwed up.
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It's not that he was going nowhere, it's that he'd already arrived.
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like a kid kicked out of class. humiliated and free.
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Love could never bloom in a concrete block room.
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