in Quotes & Aphorisms (Love)
Love, just nature's way of getting one person to pay the bills for another person.
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Aphorisms by Jeanette Winterson
The end of love is a haunting. a haunting of dreams. A haunting of silence. Haunted by ghosts it is easy to become a ghost. Life ebbs. The pulse is too faint. Nothing stirs you. Some people approve of this and call it healing. It is not healing. A dead body feels no pain.
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in Quotes & Aphorisms (Life)
Misery pulls away the brackets of life leaving you to free fall.
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in Quotes & Aphorisms (Life)
Thinking about time is to acknowledge two contradictory certainties: that our outward lives are governed by the seasons and the clock; that our inward lives are governed by something much less regular, an imaginative impulse cutting through the dictates of daily time, and leaving us free to ignore the boundaries of here and now and pass like lightning along the coil of pure time, that is, the circle of the universe and whatever it does or does not contain.
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in Quotes & Aphorisms (Books)
One of my personal aims has been to try to bring the word back to people who are dispossessed of it. So when people come along and say, I don't normally read, but somebody gave me one of your books and now I have read all of them, that, for me, is a great victory. Because, of course, they won't stop with my books; they'll read other people's too.
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in Quotes & Aphorisms (Moods)
Words in the head are like voices underwater. They are distorted.
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One just spends as much money as one has. Very peculiar that! You never actually have any money. You think, If I had this much money ten years ago, I would have thought I was amazingly rich, but I still manage to spend it all and not have any left.
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in Quotes & Aphorisms (Love)
Where did love begin? What human being looked at another and saw in their face the forests and the sea? Was there a day, exhausted and weary, dragging home food, arms cut and scarred, that you saw yellow flowers and, not knowing what you did, picked them because I love you?
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in Quotes & Aphorisms (Life)
Today we are all speeding under the golden arms of the arches into our city, into our lives, into the world that is a stream of information, ceaselessly collected and projected.
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Children, I suppose, are always unfinished business: they begin as part of your own body, and continue as separate as another continent.
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