A Quote by Janet Fitch

The story of her life. God gave you everything just to take it away. Just so you knew exactly what you were missing. — © Janet Fitch
The story of her life. God gave you everything just to take it away. Just so you knew exactly what you were missing.
The evasions of her little novel were exactly those of her life. Everything she did not wish to confront was also missing from her novella--and was necessary to it.
I love her. I need her. I gave away everything I had for her. I just wanted her to know me.
She should have done science, not spent all her time with her head in novels. Novels gave you a completely false idea about life, they told lies and they implied there were endings when in reality there were no endings, everything just went on and on and on.
She looked so beautiful in the moonlight, but it wasn't only the way she looked, it was what was inside her, everything from her intelligence and courage to her wit, and the special smile she gave only to him. He would slay a dragon, if there were such a thing, just to see that smile. He knew he would never want anyone else for as long as he lived. He would rather spend the rest of his life alone than with someone else. There could be no one else.
I knew I could play well on the grass, but I really played so well today. I knew exactly what I had to play to beat her. I just did everything I could in the moment. I was very focused for every point. I knew that I had to go forward for every shot I was playing to push her back, and yeah, I did it.
In my mind, I gave the woman gifts. I gave her a candle stub. I gave her a box of wooden kitchen matches. I gave her a cake of Lifebuoy soap. I gave her a ceilingful of glow-in-the-dark planets. I gave her a bald baby doll. I gave her a ripe fig, sweet as new wood, and a milkdrop from its stem. I gave her a peppermint puff. I gave her a bouquet of four roses. I gave her fat earthworms for her grave. I gave her a fish from Roebuck Lake, a vial of my sweat for it to swim in.
Just take everything exactly as it is, put it in God's hands and leave it with Him.
You never know, God can take my ability away any day, so I just thank God for everything he does for me, and for putting my sister in my life and motivating me.
Since everything in my life collapsed in '89, I was just determined that I wouldn't cave in. I wouldn't just go away or become a basket case. I knew the value of me as a person.
I knew what it felt like to have no say in who you were as a sexual being. It didn't just strip away your dignity. It stripped away everything you were: your identity, your self-respect, your pleasure. Because it was all about the pleasure of the other person take, take, taking whatever they wanted from you, even if it was uncomfortable, or caused you pain. Even if you died from it, the other person still wouldn't care, because it was all about them.
I think it's time for me to move away from basketball. It was a huge part of my life and gave me pretty much everything I desired but there comes a time when you just can't take it anymore.
No one worries about you like your mother, and when she is gone, the world seems unsafe, things that happen unwieldy. You cannot turn to her anymore, and it changes your life forever. There is no one on earth who knew you from the day you were born; who knew why you cried, or when you'd had enough food; who knew exactly what to say when you were hurting; and who encouraged you to grow a good heart. When that layer goes, whatever is left of your childhood goes with her.
I gave you the best of me, he'd told her once, and with every beat of her son's heart, she knew he'd done exactly that.
A nun I know once told me she kept begging God to take her character defects away from her. After years of this prayer, God finally got back to her: I'm not going to take anything away from you, you have to give it to Me.
According to the nanny who sold her story, Victoria used to scream at her husband: I gave up my music for you. So, the next time you feel like slagging off David Beckham, just take a moment to ponder on how much we all owe the man.
When we were making 'Toy Story,' my grandmother was very ill, and she knew she was not going to make it. I went back to visit her, and there was a moment during that visit that I had to say goodbye, and I knew I'd never be seeing her again. I looked at her and knew that I was looking at her for the last time.
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