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Jeanette Winterson

Jeanette Winterson Quotes

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Famous Jeanette Winterson Quotes

“Written on the body is a secret code only visible in certain lights: the accumulations of a lifetime gather there. In places the palimpsest is so heavily worked that the letters feel like Braille. I like to keep my body rolled up away from prying eyes, never unfold too much, or tell the whole story. I didn't know that Louise would have reading hands. She has translated me into her own book.”

KnowsFeelsBookWholeStoriesBodyHandsLightEyeCertainReadingSecretToo MuchWrittenLettersLifetimeCodeVisibleAccumulationBraillePalimpsest
Book:Written On The Body
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“When my friend Melot set the trap, I think I knew it. I turned to death full face, as I had turned to love with my whole body. I would let death enter me as you had entered me. You had crept along my blood vessels through the wound, and the blood that circulates returns to the heart. You circulated me, you made me blush like a girl in the hoop of your hands. You were in my arteries and my lymph, you were the colour just under my skin, and if I cut myself, it was you I bled. Red Isolde, alive on my fingers, and always the force of blood pushing you back to my heart.”

IfsThinkingHeartMadeWholeBodyHandsFacesGirlForceCuttingAliveBloodReturnMy HeartMy FriendsRedSkinsFingersWoundsColourPushingTrapsVesselArteriesBlood Vessels
Author:Jeanette Winterson
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“Love, they say, enslaves and passion is a demon and many have been lost for love. I know this is true, but I know too that without love we grope the tunnels of our lives and never see the sun. When I fell in love it was as though I looked into a mirror for the first time and saw myself. I lifted my hand in bewilderment and felt my cheeks, my neck. This was me. And when I had looked at myself and grown accustomed to who I was, I was not afraid to hate parts of me because I wanted to be worthy of the mirror bearer.”

KnowsLifeFirstsHas BeensHandsWantedHatePassionLostFeltSunSawsOur LivesFirst TimeMirrorsWorthyDemonNecksNot AfraidCheeksAccustomedTunnelsWithout LoveBewilderment
Author:Jeanette Winterson
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“We're a lukewarm people for all our feast days and hard work. Not much touches us, but we long to be touched. We lie awake at night willing the darkness to part and show us a vision. Our children frighten us in their intimacy, but we make sure they grow up like us. Lukewarm like us. On a night like this, hands and faces hot, we can believe that tomorrow will show us angels in jars and that the well-known woods will suddenly reveal another path.”

PeopleBelieveWellsChildrenLongHardShowsHandsFacesLyingNightGrowsKnownVisionDarknessGrowing UpPathWillingHard WorkTomorrowAngelHotOur ChildrenWoodsIntimacyAwakeTouchedWell KnownJarsLukewarmAwake At Night
Author:Jeanette Winterson
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“Now that physics is proving the intelligence of the universe what are we to do about the stupidity of mankind? I include myself. I know that the earth is not flat but my feet are. I know that space is curved but my brain has been condoned by habit to grow in a straight line. What I call light is my own blend of darkness. What I call a view is my hand-painted trompe-l'oeil. I run after knowledge like a ferret down a ferret hole. My limitations, I call the boundaries of what can be known. I interpret the world by confusing other people's psychology with my own.”

PeopleKnowsWorldHas BeensHandsLightRunningEarthUniverseGrowsLinesMy OwnSpaceViewsBrainKnownDarknessPsychologyFeetMankindHabitProveStupidityPhysicsBoundariesHolesLimitationFlatsConfusingStraight LinesFerrets
Author:Jeanette Winterson
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“Don't you think it's strange that life, described as so rich and full, a camel-trail of adventure, should shrink to this coin-sized world? A head on one side, a story on the other. Someone you loved and what happened. That's all there is when you dig in your pockets. The most significant thing is someone else's face. What else is embossed on your hands but her?”

ThinkingWorldShouldStoriesHandsFacesSidesRichHappenedStrangeAdventureSignificantPocketsCoinsTrailsShrinksCamelsSignificant Things
Author:Jeanette Winterson
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“I remember once walking out hand in hand with a boy I knew, and it was summer, and suddenly before us was a field of gold. Gold as far as you could see. We knew we'd be rich forever. We filled our pockets and our hair. We were rolled in gold. We ran through the field laughing and our legs and feet were coated in yellow dust, so that we were like golden statues or golden gods. He kissed my feet, the boy I was with, and when he smiled, he had a gold tooth. It was only a field of buttercups, but we were young.”

HandsRememberYoungBoysLaughingForeverRichFeetFieldsHairWalkingSummerGoldFilledLegsTeethGoldenDustRanPocketsYellowStatuesHand In HandButtercupWalking OutGold TeethLegs And Feet
Author:Jeanette Winterson
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“I like the way the morning can be stormy and the afternoon clear and sparkly as a jewel in the water. Put your hand in the water to reach for a sea urchin or a sea shell, and the thing desired never quite lies where you had lined it up to be. The same is true of love. In prospect or contemplation, love is where it seems to be. Reach in to lift it out and your hand misses”

WayHandsSeemsLyingWaterLove IsMorningClearSeaMissingLiftsContemplationAfternoonShellsJewelsStormySea Shell
Author:Jeanette Winterson
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“Who taught you to write in blood on my back? Who taught you to use your hands as branding irons? You have scored your name into my shoulders, referenced me with your mark. The pads of your fingers have become printing blocks, you tap a message on to my skin, tap meaning into my body. Your morse code interferes with my heart beat. I had a steady heart before I met you, I relied upon it, it had seen active service and grown strong. Now you alter its pace with your own rhythm, you play upon me, drumming me taut.”

WritingHeartPlayUseBodyHandsNamesStrongBloodTaughtMy HeartMetsMessagesBeatsSkinsMarkFingersActiveShouldersBlockRhythmCodeIronPaceSteadyBrandingInterferePrintingPadsHeart BeatDrummingMorse CodeBefore I Met You
Author:Jeanette Winterson
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“The continuous narrative of existence is a lie. There is no continuous narrative, there are lit-up moments, and the rest is dark. When you look closely, the twenty-four hour day is framed into a moment; the still-life of the jerky amphetamine world. That woman-a pieta. Those men, rough angels with an unknown message. The children holding hands, spanning time. And in every still-life, there is a story, the story that tells you everything you need to know.”

KnowsMenWorldNeedsLooksChildrenStillsMomentsStoriesHandsLyingHoursDarkExistenceFourMessagesAngelTwentiesNarrativeRoughLitFramedHolding HandsStill LifeAmphetamines
Book:Lighthousekeeping
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“The Hopi, an Indian tribe, have a language as sophisticated as ours, but no tenses for past, present and future. The division does not exist. What does this say about time? Matter, that thing the most solid and the well-known, which you are holding in your hands and which makes up your body, is now known to be mostly empty space. Empty space and points of light. What does this say about the reality of the world?”

WorldWellsDoeMatterBodyHandsRealityLightPastLanguageSpaceKnownEmptyYour BodyIndianDivisionSophisticatedTribesWell KnownEmpty SpacePast PresentPast Present And FuturePoints Of LightIndian Tribes
Book:Sexing the Cherry
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“This is where the story starts, in this threadbare room. The walls are exploding. The windows have turned into telescopes. Moon and stars are magnified in this room. The sun hangs over the mantelpiece. I stretch out my hand and reach the corners of the world. The world is bundled up in this room. Beyond the door, where the river is, where the roads are, we shall be. We can take the world with us when we go and sling the sun under your arm. Hurry now, it's getting late. I don't know if this is a happy ending but here we are let loose in open fields.”

IfsKnowsWorldStoriesHandsStarsRoomsSunDoorsFieldsWallArmsMoonLateRiversWindowCornersHappy EndingsTelescopesExplodingCorners Of The WorldMoon And StarsHang OverOpen Fields
Author:Jeanette Winterson
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“No. Take the heart first. Then you don't feel the cold so much. The pain so much. With the heart gone, there's no reason to stay your hand. Your eyes can look on death and not tremble. It's the heart that betrays us, makes us weep, makes us bury our friends when we should be marching ahead. It's the heart that sickens us at night and makes us hate who we are. It's the heart that sings old songs and brings memories of warm days.”

LifeFeelsShouldFirstsLooksHeartReasonHandsEyePainNightHateSongMemoriesGoneColdWarmWho We AreNo ReasonBetrayOld SongReason To Stay
Author:Jeanette Winterson
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“Today, the sun is everywhere, and everything solid is nothing but its own shadow, I know that the real things in life, the things I remember, the things I turn over in my hands, are not houses, bank accounts, prizes or promotions. What I remember is love -- all love -- love of this dirt road, this sunrise, a day by the river, the stranger I met in a café. Myself, even, which is the hardest thing of all to love, because love and selfishness are not the same thing. It is easy to be selfish. It is hard to love who I am. No wonder I am surprised if you do.”

IfsKnowsRealHardHandsTodayRememberTurnsHouseEasyWonderSunMetsShadowRiversAccountsStrangerSelfishWho I AmHardestSelfishnessPrizeThings In LifeDirtSunriseHardest ThingPromotionReal ThingsBank AccountsBeing SelfishDirt Roads
Book:Lighthousekeeping
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