Quotes from Joy Fielding

Florida was a living tomb, she used to tell anyone who'd listen, an old-age home in the shape of a state, God's little waiting room, as she was fond of quoting.

I'm writing exactly the kinds of books I like to write. And they're the kinds of books I like to read. They're popular commercial fiction. That's what they are.

The sad truth is that truth is almost irrelevant in a court of law.

My books are not generic. You know when you're reading a Joy Fielding book.

There aren't too many people out there who can start one of my books and not finish it. I don't think too many writers can say that.

Perfect happiness is knowing that everyone I love is healthy, safe, and content.

We are who we pretend to be.

No matter how grim things may seem, they always get better.

Once lost, they are rarely found.

There's something very satisfying about numbers. Numbers are what they are. They're very straightforward. Unlike people.

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

There's something very satisfying about numbers. Numbers are what they are. They are very straightforward. Unlike people.

You're the one who can do no wrong." "I do plenty wrong." "You don't have to tell me.

Give a hundred writers the same idea and you'll get a hundred different stories.

Would he be haunted, as she knew she would be, by the memory of the love they'd once clung to, yet tented to so recklessly, and abandoned so carelessly?

There wasn't a lot of bullshit in my heaven.

Alles, was wir als Erwachsene werden, geht darauf zurück, wer wir als Kinder waren, wie wir behandelt wurden und was unsere Ideen und Werte geprägt hat. Wir sind, wer wir waren - nur größer.

She had been driving all afternoon, her head an echo chamber in which both spoken words and unspoken thoughts steadily collide, one-legged runners on America's highways.

Can't save everyone

You're sure he's not a cross-dresser?" Diana asked.

Deprive a child of parental approval, and they'll spend their lives trying to get it. And the sad, undeniable fact is that I spent most of my formative years just trying to get my parents' attention, let alone their approval. The more they withheld it, the greater my attempts to attain it.

How many tears could one body hold? How many could she spill before she drowned in them?

The blood that covered the front of her dress hit her square in the eyes, like a ripe tomato hurled at her face. Forming a giant, angry fist, it reached into her throat and dragged forth a low, unwilling scream.

April was considered cruel because, unlike winter, which had "kept us warm" by "covering the earth in forgetful snow," April's thaw not only laid bare the dormant rot below, it unearthed a fresh hope—of renewal, of change, of brighter days ahead—that was ultimately doomed to disappoint.