Janet Fitch
Janet Fitch
Janet Fitch is most famously known as the author of the Oprah's Book Club novel White Oleander, which became a film in 2002. She is a graduate of Reed College, located in Portland, Oregon...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionAuthor
Date of Birth9 November 1955
CountryUnited States of America
memories landscape dimensions
Memory is the fourth dimension to any landscape.
missing stories
The story of her life. God gave you everything just to take it away. Just so you knew exactly what you were missing.
heart water poetry
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.
flower snow focus
Whenever she turned her steep focus to me, I felt the warmth that flowers must feel when they bloom through the snow, under the first concentrated rays of the sun.
dream pain sick
Beauty was deceptive. I would rather wear my pain, my ugliness. I was torn and stitched. I was a strip mine, and they would just have to look. I hoped I made them sick. I hoped they saw me in their dreams.
water people desire
I hated labels anyway. People didn't fit in slots--prostitute, housewife, saint--like sorting the mail. We were so mutable, fluid with fear and desire, ideals and angles, changeable as water.
lost-ones oysters white
The pearls weren't really white, they were a warm oyster beige, with little knots in between so if they broke, you only lost one. I wished my life could be like that, knotted up so that even if something broke, the whole thing wouldn't come apart.
survival suffering care
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.
self height oleanders
...You know the mistrust of heights is the mistrust of self, you don't know whether you're going to jump.
ivory tables pages
I took the volume to a table, opened its soft, ivory pages... and fell into it as into a pool during dry season.
dark world dark-world
here, here is my dark world. you carry it for a change. im out
band remember
Who are you? the band sang. I tried to remember but I really couldn't say.
notebook writing night
She was sitting cross-legged on her bed in her white kimono, writing in a notebook with an ink pen she dipped in a bottle. 'Never let a man stay the night,' she told me. 'Dawn has a way of casting a pall on any night magic.' The night magic sounded lovely. Someday I would have lovers and write a poem after.
dream hangover debt
Love's an illusion. It's a dream you wake up from with an enormous hangover and net credit debt. I'd rather have cash.