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… — 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
