beautiful girls have certain advantages.
Janet FitchStichwörter: beauty
you ever wonder why people get out of bed in the morning? why do they bother? why not just drink turpentine?
Janet FitchStichwörter: life
don't turn over rocks if you don't want to see the pale creatures who live underneath them.
Janet FitchStichwörter: life-lesson
How easy I was. Like a limpet I attached myself to anything, anyone who showed me the least attention.
Janet FitchStichwörter: white-oleander
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Who am I? I am who I say I am and tomorrow someone else entirely. You are too nostalgic, you want memory to secure you, console you. The past is a bore. What matters is only oneself and what one creates from what one has learned. Imagination uses what it needs and discards the rest— where you want to erect a museum. Don't hoard the past, Astrid. Don't cherish anything. Burn it. The artist is the phoenix who burns to emerge.
Janet FitchStichwörter: past present artist white-oleander
You’ve never been ugly.” The boy looked down at his hand filling the blank spaces in a science fiction scene. “Women treat you like you’re a disease they might catch. And if in a weak moment they let you touch them, they make you pay.
Janet FitchYou imagine you can see me, Mother? All you could ever see was your own face in a mirror.”
“Who am I, Mother? I’m not you. That’s why you wish I were dead. You can’t shape me anymore.
I hadn’t understood at the time. If sinners were so unhappy, why would they prefer their suffering? But now I knew why. Without my wounds, who was I? My scars were my face, my past was my life. It wasn’t like I didn’t know where all this remembering got you, all that hunger for beauty and astonishing cruelty and ever-present loss.
Janet FitchAnd if there’s no God?”
“You act as if there is, and it’s the same thing.
Mother prescribing her books like medicines. A good dose of Whitman would set me straight, like castor oil. But at least she was thinking of me. I existed once more.
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