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You never give away your heart; you lend it from time to time. If it were not so, how could we take it back without asking?

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Jeanette Winterson

Jeanette Winterson

Profession: Novelist
Nationality: British

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The body shuts down when it has too much to bear; goes its own way quietly inside, waiting for a better time, leaving you numb and half alive.

Take two people. Slice lengthways. Boil with the lid on. Add a marriage, a past, another woman. Sugar to taste. Pass through a chance meeting. Lubricate sparingly. Serve on a bed of – or is it in a bed of –? Use fresh and top with raw emotion.

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

You play, you win, you play, you lose. You play. It's the playing that's irresistible.

What if?' has no power against ‘What if not?' The not of you is unbearable. I must have you.

I don't believe in happy endings.

My usual confessional is a straight Macallan but not before 5 o'clock. Perhaps that's why I try and have my crises in the evening.

She was a Roman Cardinal, chaste, but for the perfect choirboy.

I dream of flight, not to be as the angels are, but to rise above the smallness of it all. The smallnesss that I am. Against the daily death the iconography of wings.

Many people feel their outer self isn't the whole self.

I wrote my way out.

To create a past that seemed authentic but would be a fiction, you need an invented language.

That night, I knew I would get away, better myself. Not because I despised who I was, but because I did not know who I was. I was waiting to be invented. I was waiting to invent myself.

I spin worlds where we could be together. I dream you. For me, imagination and desire are very close.

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