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.
Jeanette WintersonWe bury things so deep we no longer remember there was anything to bury. Our bodies remember. Our neurotic states remember. But we don't.
Jeanette WintersonI didnโt want to tell the story of myself, but someone I called myself. If you read yourself as fiction, itโs rather more liberating than reading yourself as fact.
Jeanette Winterson