What a strange world this is when you can have as much sex as you like but love is taboo.

Jeanette Winterson

Jeanette Winterson

Profession: Novelist
Nationality: British

Some suggestions for you :

The things that I regret in my life are not errors of judgement but failures of feeling.

History is not a suicide note -- it is a record of our survival.

I can tell by now that you are wondering whether I can be trusted as a narrator. Why didn't I dump Inge and head for a Singles Bar? The answer is her breasts.

Humans have given away all their power to a they. You aren't able to fight the system because without the system none of you can survive.

You are still the colour of my blood. You are my blood. When I look in the mirror it's not my own face I see. Your body is twice. Once you once me. Can I be sure which is which?

Now that I have lost you I cannot allow you to develop, you must be a photograph not a poem.

A tough life needs a tough language - and that is what poetry is.

I have a theory that every time you make an important choice, the part of you left behind continues the other life you could have had.

Wrong to seal illogic with a kiss but I do it myself all the time.

Witchery popery popery witchery – all the same thing.

True stories are the ones that lie open at the border, allowing a crossing, a further frontier. The final frontier is just science fiction – don't believe it. Like the universe, there is no end.

When you are born--what you are born into, the place, the history of the place, how that history mates with your own-- stamps who you are, whatever the pundits of globalisation have to say.

Everyone assumed it had to be some sort of biography, because if you are a woman and use yourself as a character, it has to be some sort of confessional, whereas if you're a man, you're actually doing some post-modern play on the novel, some critique on identity with lots of references to Foucault.

The love we seek overrules human nature. It has a wildness in it and a glory that we want more than life itself. Love never counts the cost, to itself or others, and nothing is as cruel as love. There is no love that does not pierce the hands and feet.