This hole in my heart is in the shape of you. No one else can fit it. Why would I want them to?
Jeanette WintersonWhen she bleeds the smells I know change colour. There is iron in her soul on those days. She smells like a gun.
Jeanette Wintersonunhappy families are conspiracies of silence. The one who breaks the silence is never forgiven.
Jeanette WintersonWho 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.
Jeanette Winterson