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
suffering being-human humans
Depression, suffering and anger are all part of being human.
artist want what-you-want
As an artist, you can never get what you want. What you do never approaches what you want it to be.
handwriting computer terrible
As a person with terrible handwriting, I love the computer. I've waited all my life for the computer.
coins too-much language
A cliche is like a coin that has been handled too much. Once language has been overly handled, it no longer leaves a clear imprint.
book flaws predictable
A book's flaws make it less predictable.
wish oleanders broke
I wish my life could be like that, knotted up so that even if something broke, the whole thing wouldn't come apart.
hate giving hatred
My hatred gives me strength.
writing light media
Appealing to the five senses is the feature that will always set writing apart from the visual media. A good writer will tell us what the world smells like, what the textures are, what the sounds are, what the light looks like, what the weather is.
numbness broken way
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...
oleanders way want
The best you'll ever do is to understand yourself, know what it is that you want, and not let the cattle stand in your way.
mother memories broken
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.
stupid rain stupid-things
The stupid things you say in the rain, that can't ever be washed away.
play symphony littles
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.
rocks eagles fire
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.