Fay Weldon
Fay Weldon
Fay Weldon CBE FRSLis an English author, essayist and playwright, whose work has been associated with feminism. In her fiction, Weldon typically portrays contemporary women who find themselves trapped in oppressive situations caused by the patriarchal structure of British society...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth22 September 1931
pride thinking
Pride is what you can afford or think you can afford.
stubborn poverty bounds
Poverty is a stubborn thing: you seldom escape it with one bound.
memories thinking presses
memory is so selective; wishful thinking presses it into service all the time.
want partners get-away
Marriage is what happens when one at least of the partners doesn't want the other to get away.
causes doe logic
Because one cause is bad does not make the opposing cause good.
space giving poetry
Poetry, I thought then, and still do, is a matter of space on the page interrupted by a few well-chosen words, to give them importance. Prose is a less grand affair which has to stretch to the edges of the page to be convincing.
simple rough-times simple-things
Words are not simple things: they take unto themselves, as they have through time, power and meaning ...
writing occupation profession
Writers were never meant to be professionals. Writing is not a profession, it is an activity, an essentially amateur occupation. It is what you do when you are not living.
writing gathering thorns
Writing is more than just the making of a series of comprehensible statements: it is the gathering in of connotations; the harvesting of them, like blackberries in a good season, ripe and heavy, snatched from among the thorns of logic.
worry stop-worrying minutes
What makes women happy? Nothing, for more than ten minutes at a time, so stop worrying.
memories lying heart
Yet this perhaps is what love does, or the memory of it; it sucks the life from the living, glorying body and leaves it, when love has gone, a shred, a simulacrum - dross, to be swept up from the factory floor, pitiful and dusty, useless... Do all men and women feel love before they die? This force, this source of light, that lies before the sun; glances off mountains and lakes, blinding and dazzling, on a Sunday afternoon; so brilliant you have to guard your soul, fold your arms to shield your heart from the very memory of it.
sex children hands
I learned that sex was not a question of victory or defeat, of pleasure or profit: of a hand's manipulation and a physical response: I learned that in its purest pleasure it belongs to neither of those who practise it, in the same way as a child belongs to neither parent: it is a free spirit: it simply exists.
understood
How has anyone ever understood anyone, except through love, which is wordless?
loneliness new-day giving
Youth gives a sense of new days dawning bright, going on for ever, and a kind of tamped-down excitement which keeps breaking through even the worst days of poverty, depression and loneliness. But then youth is something which only exists in retrospect; you are barely conscious of it while you have it.