Only a fool tries to reconstruct a bunch of grapes from a bottle of wine. Jeanette Winterson More Quotes by Jeanette Winterson More Quotes From Jeanette Winterson I knew it like destiny, and at the same time, I knew it as choice. Jeanette Winterson fate destiny choices I don't want to conquer you; I just want to climb you. Jeanette Winterson climbs conquer want I would eat my way into perdition to taste you. Jeanette Winterson pomegranates taste way You said, 'I'm going to leave him because my love for you makes any other life a lie.' I've hidden these words in the lining of my coat. I take them out like a jewel thief when no-one's watching. They haven't faded. Nothing about you has faded. You are still the colour of my blood. You are my blood. When I look in the mirror it's not my own face I see. Your body is twice. Once you once me. Can I be sure which is which? Jeanette Winterson mirrors lying blood After every ''victory'' you have more enemies. Jeanette Winterson war peace enemy But not all dark places need light, I have to remember that. Jeanette Winterson light dark needs Lie beside me. Let me see the division of your pores. Let me see the web of scars made by your family's claws and you their furniture. Let me see the wounds that they denied. The battle ground of family life that has been your body. Let me see the bruised red lines that signal their encampment. Let me see the routed place where they are gone. Lie beside me and let the seeing be healing. No need to hide. No need for either darkness or light. Let me see you as you are. Jeanette Winterson light healing lying For me, language is a freedom. As soon as you have found the words with which to express something, you are no longer incoherent, you are no longer trapped by your own emotions, by your own experiences; you can describe them, you can tell them, you can bring them out of yourself and give them to somebody else. That is an enormously liberating experience. Jeanette Winterson emotion language giving I keep myself locked as a box when it matters, and broken open when it doesn't matter at all. Jeanette Winterson boxes broken matter To kiss well one must kiss solely. No groping hands or stammering hearts. The lips and the lips alone are the pleasure. Passion is sweeter split strand by strand. Divided and re-divided like mercury then gathered up only at the last moment. Jeanette Winterson passion kissing heart Age is information failure. The body loses fluency. Jeanette Winterson information body age I don't understand why people talk of art as a luxury when it's a mind-altering possibility. Jeanette Winterson luxury people art If art, all art, is concerned with truth, then a society in denial will not find much use for it. Jeanette Winterson denial use art Long looking at paintings is equivalent to being dropped into a foreign city, where gradually, out of desire and despair, a few key words, then a little syntax make a clearing in the silence. Art... is a foreign city, and we deceive ourselves when we think it familiar... We have to recognize that the language of art, all art, is not our mother-tongue. Jeanette Winterson mother art thinking She must find a boat and sail in it. No guarantee of shore. Only a conviction that what she wanted could exist, if she dared to find it. Jeanette Winterson boat conviction guarantees ...there are two kinds of writing: the one you write and the one that writes you. Jeanette Winterson kind writing two A curse on this game. How can you stick at a game when the rules keep on changing? I shall call myself Alice and play croquet with the flamingos. In Wonderland everyone cheats and love is Wonderland, isn't it? Jeanette Winterson games play love-is We fear passion and laugh at too much love and those who love too much. And still we long to feel. Jeanette Winterson laughter passion fear I believe in fiction and the power of stories because that way we speak in tongues. We are not silenced. All of us, when in deep trauma, find we hesitate, we stammer; there are long pauses in our speech. The thing is stuck. We get our language back through the language of others. We can turn to the poem. We can open the book. Somebody has been there for us and deep-dived the words. Jeanette Winterson long believe book I feel in colour, strong tones that I hue down for the comfort of the pastelly inclined. Beige and magnolia and a hint of pink are what the well-decorated heart is wearing; who wants my blood red and vein-blue? Jeanette Winterson strong blue heart
