Who 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… — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
When she bleeds the smells I know change colour. There is iron in her soul on those days. She smells like a gun. — 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 Image
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 Image
I have found that I am not a space where people want to live, at least not without decorating first. — Jeanette Winterson Copy Share Image
“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 Image
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 Image
“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 Image
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 Image
“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 Image
“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 Image
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 Image
