Jeanette Winterson
Jeanette Winterson
Jeanette Winterson, OBEis an award-winning English writer, who became famous with her first book, Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit, a semi-autobiographical novel about a sensitive teenage girl rebelling against conventional values. Some of her other novels have explored gender polarities and sexual identity. Winterson is also a broadcaster and a professor of creative writing...
NationalityBritish
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth27 August 1959
stupid thinking literature
I think it would be very foolish not to take the irrational seriously.
school mind literature
I didn't mind being unpopular at school, because everyone else was a heathen.
confidence reality literature
Confidence and superiority: It's the usual fundamentalist stuff: I've got the truth, and you haven't.
powerful matter literature
Whatever is powerful to you can be translated into something which will matter to somebody that you will never know.
literature dies our-lives
We shall all die, and our lives will be irrelevant then.
change book literature
I don't read reviews because by then it's too late - whatever anyone says, the book won't change. It is written.
book literature rogues
Always in my books, I like to throw that rogue element into a stable situation and then see what happens.
writing self literature
There are so many separate selves; no one who writes creatively hasn't felt that.
literature causes trouble
I wanted to cause trouble, but I know now it stays with you.
thinking literature private-life
I like to think the price I paid by being open about my private life helped.
ambition literature huge
I had huge ambition for literature. I don't see the point of doing anything if you don't have ambition for it.
risk literature take-a-chance
What you risk reveals what you value.
powerful literature language
That is what literature offers—a language powerful enough to say how it is. It isn't a hiding place. It is a finding place.
different goes-on literature
They say that every snowflake is different. If that were true, how could the world go on? How could we ever get up off our knees? How could we ever recover from the wonder of it?