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| Link | Quote | Stars | Tags | Author |
| 91e22e9 | Well done, my fine fellow out of my womb. What have you gained? Nothing! And oh, what have you lost? Everything! | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 9a9fb4a | The Romantics didn't need [the bible] because they found their own fire; but almost every other quasi-revolt has gone back to it, because when the heart revolts, it wants outrageous things that cannot possibly be factual. Robes and incense and larger-than-life and miracles and heroes. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 78fa95b | This Captain had been brought up in Istanbul. His mind was made of minarets and domes. He capped himself with spacious ease. He was his own call to prayer. | istanbul turkey upbringing | Jeanette Winterson | |
| 8fe6852 | Like my grandmother he kept secrets the way other people keep 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 | ||
| 19b3f50 | What you fuck is much more important than how you write. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| b15f7fb | I kissed her, and forgot death. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| a9bffb6 | Moon's gravitational pull means that earth doesn't wobble too much. Scientists call it obliquity. The moon holds us fast. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 83c821e | We were in Ireland. Was there ever a country so damp? I had to wring out my mind to think clearly. I was a morning mist of confusion. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| c152daf | This is the city of uncertainty, where routes and faces look alike and are not. Death will be like that. We will forever be recognizing people we have never met. But darkness and death are not the same. One is temporary, the other is not. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 76598cf | sometimes you have to accept that your heart knows what to do | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| e462e47 | Passion is not such an emotion as a destiny. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| bae1750 | I felt miserable. When Keats felt miserable he always put on a clean shirt. But he was a poet. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| f0accbc | To lose someone you love Is to alter your life forever... The pain stops, there are new people, But the gap never closes... | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 27d171e | There's no dark like it. It's soft to the touch and heavy in the hands. You can open your mouth and let it sink into you 'till it makes a close ball in your belly. You can juggle with it, dodge it, swim in it. You can open it like a door. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 9061e8d | It takes much longer to leave the psychic place than the physical place. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 4ea1344 | Writers are often exiles, outsiders, runaways and castaways. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 309a2c4 | Yes, the past is another country, but once that we can visit and once there we can bring back the things we need. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 62779e9 | The future of women is uncertain. We don't breed in the womb any more, and if we aren't wanted for sex ... But there will always be men. Women haven't gone for little boys. Women have a different approach. Surrounded by hunks, they look for 'the ugly man inside'. Thugs and gangsters, rapists and wife-beaters are making a comeback. They may smile like beach-boys, but they are pure shark. So this is the future. F is for Future. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| cb14739 | We gamble with the hope of winning, but it's the thought of what we might lose that excites us | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 7a86f3f | I am crawling like one of those children who pulled coal wagons in the depths of the earth. I am on my hands and knees and listening to the boom boom above, or is it my pulse, my heart? I don't know. I must pull this weight strapped behind me, this cart filled with my own fears and inadequacies, and if there is a way out, perhaps I will find it, but not until my hands and knees have worn away the sadness in me, sadness so deep that a whale .. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| a6b35b8 | I'm never tempted by God but I like his trappings. Not tempted but I begin to understand why others are. With this feeling inside, with this wild love that threatens, what safe places might there be? Where do you store gunpowder? How do you sleep at night again? If I were a little different I might turn passion into something holy and then I would sleep again. | passion | Jeanette Winterson | |
| 2853be7 | Viitorul, prezentul si trecutul nu exista decat in mintea noastra, iar de la departare marginile li se micsoreaza si li se incetoseaza precum granitele unor tari dusmane, vazute dintr-un oras plutitor, tocmai de pe bolta. | trecutul viitorul | Jeanette Winterson | |
| 4caf87b | This is one reason why it remains anarchic even at its most canonised. The modern world is Time's fool. Art is master of itself. But, you may say, who has long hours for a book these days? The answer must be whoever wants to read one. A reader must pick up a book, then the reader must pick up the beat. At that moment the clock is stopped. Now I am getting his beat into my brain (the rhythm is the main thing in writing). | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 562e6b9 | In Venice, a long time ago, when we had our own calendar and stayed aloof from the world, we began the days at night. What use was the sun to us when our trade and our secrets and our diplomacy depended on darkness? In the dark you are in disguise and this is the city of disguises. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 4f83617 | When you dig under the surface, past the necessities, men and women don't mix. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| bb71b59 | A work of art is abundant, spills out, gets drunk, sits up with you all night and forgets to close the curtains, dries your tears, is your friend, offers you a disguise, a difference, a pose. Cut and cut it through and there is still a diamond at the core. Skim the top and it is rich. The inexhaustible energy of art is transfusion for a worn-out world. When I read Virginia Woolf she is to my spirit, waterfall and wine. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 3c3032d | So just you take care, what you think is the heart might well be another organ. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| bb8e3a5 | And I thought about women. All these books, and how long had it taken for women to write their share, and why were their still so few women poets and novelists, and even fewer who were considered to be important? | writing | Jeanette Winterson | |
| a5f3556 | We are a lukewarm people and our longing for freedom is our longing for love. If we had the courage to love we would not so value these acts of war. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 24838cc | The midgets acted all of the tragedies and many of the comedies. They acted them all at once, and it was fortunate that Tetrahedron had so many faces, otherwise he might have died of fatigue. They acted them all at once, and the emperor, walking round his theatre, could see them all at once, if he wished. Round and round he walked, and so learned a very valuable thing: that no emotion is the final one. | theatre | Jeanette Winterson | |
| 352bf33 | Passion is not well bred. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| ef57b2f | I have learned what love costs. I never count it but I know what it costs. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 58fb35d | Art is a way into other realities, other personalities. When I let myself be affected by a book, I let into myself new customs and new desires. The book does not reproduce me, it re-defines me, pushes at my boundaries, shatters the palings that guard my heart. Strong texts work along the borders of our minds and alter what already exists. They could not do this if they merely reflected what already exists. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 795486d | Lovers are not at their best when it matters. Mouths dry up, palms sweat, conversation flags and all the time the heart is threatening to fly from the body once and for all. Lovers have been known to have heart attacks. Lovers drink too much from nervousness and cannot perform. They eat too little and faint during their fervently wished consummation. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 5dc2bf4 | I began to feel like Sarpi, that Venetian priest and diplomat, who said he never told a lie but didn't tell the truth to everyone. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 4d50e92 | Is it because she will return that I take pleasure in being alone? Hopeless heart that thrives on paradox; that longs for the beloved and is secretly relieved when the beloved is not there. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 04b5466 | Until we learn to stop dying Tom, we have to live with the consequences. There's no room for the dead unless you treat them as ornamental. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 98f34e8 | The Things They Carried has sold over two million copies internationally, won numerous awards, and is an English classroom staple. Isabel Allende was the first writer to hold me inside a sentence, rapt and wondrous. It's no surprise that her most transformative writing springs from personal anguish. Her first book, The House of the Spirits, began as a letter to her dying grandfather whom she could not reach in time. Eva Luna, one of my favo.. | Jessica Lourey | ||
| bb325a6 | I have found that I am not a space where people want to live. At least not without decorating first. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 24b3358 | Cuando cayo la noche, vio la luz del faro del cabo de la Ira; solo hacia una semana que estaba encendida, pero estaba encendida, y supo que si se convertia a si mismo en la historia de la luz, quiza se salvaria. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 83dcfbc | That's why he hates him so much. He disappointed him. Passion does not take disappointment well. What is more humiliating than finding the object of your love unworthy? | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 81efce3 | I think I may have missed the world, that the one I've seen is a decoy to get me off the scent. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 8501a9a | Dark could feel the familiar pain behind his eyes. His eyes were bars, and behind them was a fierce, unfed animal. When people looked at him they had the feeling of being shut out. He did not shut them out. He shut himself in. | Jeanette Winterson | ||
| 65a43bb | Dark woke out of his sleeping nightmare and into his waking nightmare. He had dreamed of a door closing and closing. | Jeanette Winterson |