I was hungry, but I was nervous too. You were so new and I didn't want to frighten you away. I didn't want to frighten myself away.
Jeanette WintersonMostra la citazione in tedesco
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Life has never been All or Nothing- it's All and Nothing. Forget the binaries.
Jeanette WintersonTag: universal-truths
And when I look at a history book and think of the imaginative effort it has taken to squeeze this oozing world between two boards and typeset, I am astonished. Perhaps the event has an unassailable truth. God saw it. God knows. But I am not God. And so when someone tells me what they heard or saw, I believe them, and I believe their friend who also saw, but not in the same way, and I can put these accounts together and I will not have a seamless wonder but a sandwich laced with mustard of my own.
Jeanette WintersonMostra la citazione in tedesco
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Kom naar beneden!’
Ik kwam naar beneden, en toen ik weer op de grond stond, gaf mijn moeder me twee klappen in mijn gezicht.
Wat zijn dat voor spelletjes?’
Ik wilde de Wildernis zien.’
Er is daar niets. Dat weet je.’
Als er niets is, kan het ook geen kwaad.’
Niets is het gevaarlijkste dat er is.’
Waarom?’
Als er niets is, kun je iets bedenken. Je zult de leegte niet kun¬nen verdragen. Het zal evengoed leeg zijn, maar je zult jezelf wijsmaken dat dat niet zo is.’
Wat ik mezelf wijsmaak is waar.’
Wat jij jezelf wijsmaakt is een verhaal.’
Dit is een verhaal: jij, ik, het schroothuis, de schat.’
Dit is het echte leven.’
Hoe weet je dat?’
Niemand zou er ooit voor betalen om ernaar te kijken.’
Ze draaide zich om om het haveloze huis weer binnen te gaan. Toen draaide ze zich weer om naar mij.
En ik zou er alles voor over hebben om het niet te hoeven le¬ven.’
Je moet het niet leven. Je moet het veranderen.' 'Je begrijpt het niet, hè?’
Wat begrijp ik niet?’
Dit is het echte leven.
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Don’t you, when strangers and friends come to call, straighten the cushions, kick the books under the bed and put away the letter you were writing? How many of us want any of us to see us as we really are? Isn’t the mirror hostile enough?
Jeanette WintersonHe: What’s the matter with you?
Me: Nothing.
Nothing was slowly clotting my arteries. Nothing slowly numbing my soul. Caught by nothing, saying nothing, nothingness becomes me. When I am nothing they will say surprised in the way that they are forever surprised, "but there was nothing the matter with her.
Tag: death depression
What is it that you contain?
The Dead. Time. Light patterns of millennia. The expanding universe opening in your gut. Are your twenty-three feet of intestines loaded with stars?
There's so little wonder left in the world because we've seen everything one way or another'.
Jeanette WintersonWhen my husband had an affair with someone else I watched his eyes glaze over when we ate dinner together and I heard him singing to himself without me, and when he tended the garden it was not for me.
He was courteous and polite; he enjoyed being at home, but in the fantasy of his home I was not the one who sat opposite him and laughed at his jokes. He didn't want to change anything; he liked his life. The only thing he wanted to change was me.
It would have been better if he had hated me, or if he had abused me, or if he had packed his new suitcases and left.
As it was he continued to put his arm round me and talk about being a new wall to replace the rotten fence that divided our garden from his vegetable patch. I knew he would never leave our house. He had worked for it.
Day by day I felt myself disappearing. For my husband I was no longer a reality, I was one of the things around him. I was the fence which needed to be replaced. I watched myself in the mirror and saw that I was mo longer vivid and exciting. I was worn and gray like an old sweater you can't throw out but won't put on.
He admitted he was in love with her, but he said he loved me.
Translated, that means, I want everything. Translated, that means, I don't want to hurt you yet. Translated, that means, I don't know what to do, give me time.
Why, why should I give you time? What time are you giving me? I am in a cell waiting to be called for execution.
I loved him and I was in love with him. I didn't use language to make a war-zone of my heart.
'You're so simple and good,' he said, brushing the hair from my face.
He meant, Your emotions are not complex like mine. My dilemma is poetic.
But there was no dilemma. He no longer wanted me, but he wanted our life
Eventually, when he had been away with her for a few days and returned restless and conciliatory, I decided not to wait in my cell any longer. I went to where he was sleeping in another room and I asked him to leave. Very patiently he asked me to remember that the house was his home, that he couldn't be expected to make himself homeless because he was in love.
'Medea did,' I said, 'and Romeo and Juliet and Cressida, and Ruth in the Bible.'
He asked me to shut up. He wasn't a hero.
'Then why should I be a heroine?'
He didn't answer, he plucked at the blanket.
I considered my choices.
I could stay and be unhappy and humiliated.
I could leave and be unhappy and dignified.
I could Beg him to touch me again.
I could live in hope and die of bitterness.
I took some things and left. It wasn't easy, it was my home too.
I hear he's replaced the back fence.
Tag: love
You have a dress with a décolletage to emphasise your breasts. I suppose the cleavage is the proper focus but what I wanted to do was to fasten my index finger and thumb at the bolts of your collar bone, push out, spreading the web of my hand until it caught against your throat. You asked me if I wanted to strangle you. No, I wanted to fit you, not just in the obvious ways but in so many indentations.
Jeanette WintersonTag: passion
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