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| Link | Quote | Stars | Tags | Author |
| 9d57a5b | There's a chasm between envy and desire. Envy is like wanting something that's not yours. But desire is different. Desire comes out of wanting what is yours, and still wanting it even if it's not yet there, but it's not envy. | Michka Assayas | ||
| aef36d0 | I've always believed in instinct over intellect. The instinct is what you always knew; intellect is what you figure out. | intellect | Michka Assayas | |
| c96cecb | Energy cannot be lost, only transformed; where do the words go? | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 7dcd069 | Odd that a festival to celebrate the most austere of births should end up being all about conspicuous consumption. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 75dd883 | We don't know who we are or how to function, much less how to bloom. Blind nature. Homo sapiens. Who's kidding whom? | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| a63b42d | If there's such a thing as spiritual adultery, my mother was a whore. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| c9807fc | Bigger questions, questions with more than one answer, questions without an answer are harder to cope with in silence. Once asked they gain dimension and texture, trip you on the stairs, wake you at night-time. A black hole sucks up its surroundings and even light never escapes. Better then to ask no questions? | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 31f8940 | Cheer up ye saints of God, There's nothing to worry about; Nothing to make you feel afraid, Nothing to make you doubt; Remember Jesus saves you; So why not trust him and shout, You'll be sorry you worried at all, tomorrow, morning. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 8da6486 | My dear, you are in danger of being burned by your own flame. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 0b74202 | My mother's eyes were like cold stars. She belonged in a different sky. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 41f0215 | If there is another life he will find her there. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 71cc773 | I read that the body remakes itself every seven years. Every cell. Even the bones rebuild themselves like coral. Why then do we remember what should be long gone? What's the point of every scar and humiliation? What is the point of remembering the good times when they are gone? I love you. I miss you. You are dead. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 55d733b | The night seems more temporary than the day, especially to lovers, and it also seems more uncertain. In this way it sums up our lives, which are uncertain and temporary. We forget about that in the day. In the day we go on for ever. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| b81a8ea | There is no sense in forgetting and every sense in dreaming. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 1f5cbac | I can tell by now that you are wondering whether I can be trusted as a narrator. Why didn't I dump Inge and head for a Singles Bar? The answer is her breasts. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| df67763 | The end of every game is an anti-climax. What you thought you would feel you don't feel, what you thought was so important isn't any more. It's the game that's exciting. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 7d51cc9 | Pulsar: a dying star spinning under its own exploding anarchic energy, like a lighthouse on speed. A star the size of a city, a city the size of a star, whirling round and round, its death-song caught by a radio receiver, light years later, like a recorded message nobody heard, back-played now into infinity across time. Love and loss. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| e31e013 | I walk the line that continually threatens to lose its tautness under me, dropping me into the dark pit where there is no meaning. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| f582bf5 | Time has no meaning, space and place have no meaning, on this journey. All times can be inhabited, all places visited. In a single day the mind can make a millpond of the oceans. Some people who have never crossed the land they were born on have travelled all over the world. The journey is not linear, it is always back and forth, denying the calender, the wrinkles and lines of the body. The self is not contained in any moment or any place, .. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 446a1e1 | when I was successful, but accused of arrogance, I wanted to drag every journalist who misunderstood to this place, and make them see that for a woman, a working-class woman, to want to be a writer, to want to be a good writer, and to believe that you were good enough, that was not arrogance; that was politics." (Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? p. 103)" | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 418f286 | It's so crude' complained her mother, who believed in Good Taste the way Sunday worshipers believed in the Immaculate Conception. She wasn't quite sure what it was but she was sure it was important. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 08fd97e | There are two kinds of writing; the one you write and the one that writes you. The one that writes you is dangerous. You go where you don't want to go. You look where you don't want to look. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| f1a3171 | The pursuit of happiness is more elusive, it is life long and not goal-centered. Whant you are pusuing is meaning - a meaningful life. The fate the draw that is yours and it isn't fixed, but changing the course of the stream thats going to take a lot of energy. There are times when it will go so wrong that you will barely be alive, and times when your realize that being barely alive , on your own terms, is better then living a bloated half-.. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 1bad711 | Somewhere beween the swamp and the mountains. Somewhere beween fear and sex. Somewere beween God and the Devil passion is and the way there is sudden and the way back worse. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| a3b2ed0 | Yes I will come for you. Roll my strength into a ball for you. Throw myself across chance for you. I will be the bridge or the pulley because you are the dream. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 5c6ff65 | As he turned inwards she turned outwards, but while he wore his intensity like a garment, she slept in hers. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 5b52910 | What is there to say about love ? You could sweep up all the words and stack them in the gutter and love wouldn't be any different, wouldn't feel any different, the hurt in the heart, the headachy desire that hardly submits to language. What we can't tame we talk about. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 3dc61af | He liked me because I am short. I flatter myself. He did not dislike me. He liked no one except Josephine and he liked her the way he liked chicken. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 212a558 | Like my grandmother he kept secrets the way other people kept fish. They were a hobby, a fascination, his underwater collection of the rare and the strange. Occasionally something would float up to the surface, unexpected, unexplained | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| aa2ae08 | Words kept salted when they cannot be found fresh. Words kept fresh when they cannot be found clean. The words go deeper, far out of reach of vessels, blood vessels bursting, that thick humming in the head. To find the words, just out of reach, beyond my hand, the coral of it, the pearl of it, fish. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| f640184 | And if you have found your voice, you can be heard | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 6f4b6fd | Women are just planets that attract the wrong species. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| c1d8b1a | I am thinking of a certain September: Wood pigeon Red Admiral Yellow Harvest Orange Night. You said, 'I love you.' Why is it that the most unoriginal thing we can say to one another is still the thing we long to hear? 'I love you' is always a quotation. You did not say it first and neither did I, yet when you say it and when I say it we speak like savages who have found three words and worship them. I did worship them but now I am alone on .. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| ec0447a | Atlas gazed out, as he always did, into infinite space, wishing he could be part of it, even for one hour. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| a7c732d | Oxford was not a conspiracy of silence as far as women were concerned; it was a conspiracy of ignorance. | oxford sexism | Jeanette Winterson | |
| 10ebc6e | I have had a lot to put up with," she said, looking meaningfully at me. "I know the Bible tells us to turn the other cheek but there are only so many cheeks in a day." | christianity what-would-jesus-do | Jeanette Winterson | |
| 5c33100 | The asynarte city; two rhythms unconnected, profanity, holiness, and out of that strange bed, art. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 1b1d46d | I sat at the back, listening to the music or mumbling through the sevice. I'm never tempted by God, but I like his trappings. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| cd019e8 | It seems to me that being the right size for your world-- and knowing that both you and your world are not by any means fixed dimensions-- is a valuable clue to learning how to live. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 020b854 | There will be a future. We believe in our unreality too strongly to give it up. | reality unreality | Jeanette Winterson | |
| 3338e64 | The night I left home I felt that I had been tricked or trapped into going - and not even by Mrs Winterson, but by the dark narrative of our life together. Her fatalism was so powerful. She was her own black hole that pulled in all the light. She was made of dark matter and her force was invisible unseen except in its effects. What would it have meant to be happy? What would it have meant if things had been bright, clear, good between us? | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 693abf2 | True stories are the ones that lie open at the border, allowing a crossing, a further frontier. The final frontier is just science fiction - don't believe it. Like the universe, there is no end. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 7b222dc | Why was money worth everything when you had none of it, and nothing when you had too much? | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 8f95991 | Reading things that are relevant to the facts of your life is of limited value. The facts are, after all, only the facts, and the yearning passionate part of you will not be met there. That is why reading ourselves as a fiction as well as fact is so liberating. The wider we read the freer we become. Emily Dickinson barely left her homestead in Amherst, Massachusetts, but when we read 'My life stood -- a loaded gun' we know we have met an im.. | reading | Jeanette Winterson |