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Quote by Jeanette Winterson

Work

Tanglewreck

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Author

Jeanette Winterson
Jeanette Winterson

Jeanette Winterson is a renowned British author known for her distinctive literary style and profound social commentary. Her works span a wide range of themes, including novels, essays, and poetry. Winterson's novel 'Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit' is a story about growth, faith, and sexuality that has received widespread acclaim. more

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“«Та який він почтальйон! — заперечив тому менший. - Дурак він, папа казав. — Потім знову повернувся до прибульця і підозріливо обміряв його. - А ти... справжній дурак?» «Е, ні! - похитав головою Валушка і підвівся. - Ніякий я не дурак, можеш сам переконатися, якщо глянеш». «Жалко, — скопилив губу малий. — Я хотів би бути дураком і добряче вилаятися королю, що його країна — відстій».”

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“Ever since the fire I have only been half listening to stuff my parents have been saying about God. I guess the part inside of me that trusted God before got burned down with everything else. I started blaming myself and Him. Now, it's hitting me that He cares. God never left me, even though I've just been leaving him for a while.”

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Book:Above the Ashes : A Sequel to Through the Flames
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“Anyway, because of Beezy’s patrician vibe and the fact that our parents grew up in a very horses-and-beeswax part of an already pretty aristocratic area of the state, you would have thought they were marked for success. You would have thought they couldn’t have avoided it! But well into their youth each of the five really did their utmost to scupper their own chances in life in utterly idiosyncratic ways, which is the usual province of the middle-to-upper-middle class. We didn’t realize this at the time, of course. To us, our parents were doing just fine.”

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Book:Idle Grounds
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“At various points in our lives we had considered joining the circus, a daydream handed to us, in fact, by our parents. If we got mad and were casting around for something to do about it, our parents would suggest with great mirth that we run away to join the circus and eventually it became a concrete possibility in our minds, a genuine emergency hatch through which we could slip if things became too unbearable. Although we hadn’t been to a circus, we had ideas of what it might entail: days of trundling along in painted wagons and stringing cooking pots over rosy fires and sitting in front of mirrors lit up by light bulbs as large as conference pears, broken up by spurts of action in which we tested our fantastic discipline against the messy and somewhat arbitrary nature of death. I don’t think it’s something kids think about anymore and anyway we never did it. We stayed right where we were, which our parents always knew would be the case and also why they’d offered it up like a dare in the first place. It was unkind but also their way of reaffirming the cords that bound us.”

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Book:Idle Grounds
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