The most prosaic of us betray a belief in the inward life every time we talk about 'my body' rather than 'I. — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
You know every cell in our bodies is completely renewed every seven years, so how can we talk about being the same… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
Written on the body is a secret code only visible in certain lights; the accumulations of a lifetime gather there — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
The body shuts down when it has too much to bear; goes its own way quietly inside, waiting for a better time,… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
We bury things so deep we no longer remember there was anything to bury. Our bodies remember. Our neurotic states remember. But… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
And you? Now that I have discovered you? Beautiful, dangerous, unleashed. Still I try to hold you, knowing that your body is… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
The journey is not linear, it is always back and forth, denying the calendar, the wrinkles and lines of the body. — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
The body can endure compromise and the mind can be seduced by it. Only the heart protests. The heart. Carbon-based primitive in… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
I've lived my life like a serial killer; finish with one part, strangle it and move on to the next. Life in… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
In the economy of the body, the limbic highway takes precedence over the neural pathways. We were designed and built to feel,… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
Even death after a long illness is without warning. The moment you had prepared for so carefully took you by storm. The… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
“I live in the space between chaos and shape. I walk the line that continually threatens to lose its tautness under me,… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
In that house, you will find my heart. You must break in, Henri, and get it back for me.' Was she mad?… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
“In the economy of the body, the limbic highway takes precedence over the neural pathways. We were designed and built to feel,… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
What to say? That the end of love is a haunting. A haunting of dreams. A haunting of silence. Haunted by ghosts… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
You said, 'I love you.' Why is it that the most unoriginal thing we can say to one another is still the… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
When my friend Melot set the trap, I think I knew it. I turned to death full face, as I had turned… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
“You said, ‘I’m going to leave him because my love for you makes any other life a lie.’ I’ve hidden those words… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
Lie beside me. Let me see the division of your pores. Let me see the web of scars made by your family's… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
At bed-time I went into my room and put out the light. I didn't get undressed. I lay on my bed and… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
The Hopi, an Indian tribe, have a language as sophisticated as ours, but no tenses for past, present and future. The division… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
Who taught you to write in blood on my back? Who taught you to use your hands as branding irons? You have… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
For my part, I think we need more emotion, not less. But I think, too, that we need to educate people in… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
Lovers are not at their best when it matters. Mouths dry up, palms sweat, conversation flags and all the time the heart… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
Children, I suppose, are always unfinished business: they begin as part of your own body, and continue as separate as another continent. — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
Academics love to make theories about a body of work, but each book consumes the writer and is the sum of his… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
I know from my own experience that suicide is not what it seems. Too easy to try to piece together the fragmented… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
Written on the body is a secret code only visible in certain lights: the accumulations of a lifetime gather there. In places… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
And so, from the first, we separated our pleasure. She lay on the rug and I lay at right angles to her… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
“After nine nights must come ten and every desperate meeting only leaves you desperate for another. There is never enough to eat, never enough… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share
You never give away your heart; you lend it from time to time. If it were not so, how could we take it back… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share
I have found that I am not a space where people want to live, at least not without decorating first. — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share
“Yes. Just pass me my leg will you? It's on top of the wardrobe where he threw it, and I think my right arm… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share
Every second the Universe divides into possibilities and most of those possibilities never happen. It is not a uni-verse -- there is more than… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share
“It's the cliches that cause the trouble. A precise emotion seeks a precise expression. If what I feel is not precise than how should… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share
What would it have meant to be happy? What would it have meant if things had been bright, clear, good between us? — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share
“Mrs Ratlow was a widow, and she was head of English, but she still did all the cooking and cleaning for her two sons,… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share
“What art does is to coax us away from the mechanical and towards the miraculous. The so-called uselessness of art is a clue to… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share
Happy Valentines Day to those who have found love, in whatever shape or form, and to those who are still hunting, don’t give up.… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share
“It took me a long time to realise that there are two kinds of writing: the one you write and the one that writes… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share
A curse on this game. How can you stick at a game when the rules keep on changing? I shall call myself Alice and… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share
“He turned away and I turned to him in vivid heat to look on the sun-dried world. The groves and towers were gone. The… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share
