Jeanette Winterson Quotes
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Where did love begin? What human being looked at another and saw in their face the forests and the sea? Was there a day, exhausted and weary, dragging home food, arms cut and scarred, that you saw yellow flowers and, not knowing what you did, picked them because I love you?
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There are so many separate selves; no one who writes creatively hasn't felt that.
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In my subconscious, my books were part of a single emotional journey.
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I wanted to invent myself as a fictional character. And I did, and it has caused a great deal of confusion.
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The truth is that love smashes into your life like an ice floe, and even if your heart is built like the Titanic you go down.
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I never cared about money.
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What you risk reveals what you value.
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What's invisible to us is also crucial for our own well-being.
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It is helpful for a woman artist not to have a husband.
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London is a small place, and it is very incestuous. People know where you live. Everybody is sort of on top of each other.
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I am a writer who happens to love women. I am not a lesbian who happens to write.
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I'm not a quitter.
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You say we are not one, you say truly there are two of us. Yes, there were two of us, but we were one. As for myself, I am splintered by great waves. I am coloured glass from a church window long since shattered. I find pieces of myself everywhere, and I cut myself handling them.
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I didn't mind being unpopular at school, because everyone else was a heathen.
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I think we still believe that ambition is for boys.
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I hated historical novels with fluttering cloaks.
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I think heterosexuality and homosexuality are a kind of psychosis, and the truth is somewhere in the middle.
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Whatever is powerful to you can be translated into something which will matter to somebody that you will never know.
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We shall all die, and our lives will be irrelevant then.
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Writers have to have a knack for listening. I need to be able to hear what is being said to me by the voices I create.
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When it is time to get to work, I go away completely and don't do anything except the work. And that can be 16 hours a day.
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To create a past that seemed authentic but would be a fiction, you need an invented language.
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Naked is the best disguise.
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I went outside, tripping over slabs of sunshine the size of towns. The sun was like a crowd of people, it was a party, it was music. The sun was blaring through the walls of the houses and beating down the steps. The Sun was drumming time into the stone. The sun was rhythming the day. (p. 197)