I watched as she added a question mark at the end. Arc, line, space, dot.
AIMEE BENDERIt seems the best work I do is when I am really allowing the unconscious to rule the page and then later I can go back and hack around and make sense of things.
More Aimee Bender Quotes
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It was a fleeting statement, one I didn’t think she’d hold on to; after all, she had birthed us alone, diapered and fed us, helped us with homework, kissed and hugged us, poured her love into us.
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He was also removing all traces of any tiny leftover parts, and suddenly a ritual which I’d always found incestuous and gross seemed to me more like a desperate act on Joseph’s part to get out, to leave, to extract every little last remnant and bring it into open air.
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We’re all getting too smart. Our brains are just getting bigger and bigger, and the world dries up and dies when there’s too much thought and not enough heart.
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The stories themselves haunt, they stick around, they linger, inhabiting a little corner of the reader’s brain and resurfacing to evoke mystery or sadness or longing.
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It seems the best work I do is when I am really allowing the unconscious to rule the page and then later I can go back and hack around and make sense of things.
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I give boring people something to discuss over corn.
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When language is treated beautifully and interestingly, it can feel good for the body: It’s nourishing; it’s rejuvenating.
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That’s the thing with handmade items. They still have the person’s mark on them, and when you hold them, you feel less alone.
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I am the drying meadow; you the unspoken apology; he is the fluctuating distance between mother and son.
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As a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake.
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I have had with novel writing, and I have put to bed big chunks of work that just didn’t sustain my interest.
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Not getting bored of my own story and/or character is one of the main struggles.
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I didn’t mind the quiet stretches. It was like we were trying out the idea of being side by side.
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It is so often surprising, who rescues you at your lowest moments.
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I could feel the tears beginning to collect in my throat again, but I pushed them apart, away from each other. Tears are only a threat in groups.
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Language is the ticket to plot and character, after all, because both are built out of language.
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If everything kept to its normal progression, we would live with the sadness-cry and then walk-but what really breaks us cleanest are the losses that happen out of order.
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There’s a gift in your lap and it’s beautifully wrapped and it’s not your birthday.
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We hit the sidewalk, and dropped hands. How I wished, right then, that the whole world was a street.
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But the sky is interesting, it changes all the time.
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With my hand in his, I looked at all the apartment buildings with rushes of love, peering in the wide streetside windows that revealed living rooms painted in dark burgandies and matte reds.
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And the warmth of the music inside her, did she believe, for even one glorious second, that her passion had arrived?
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You feel wonderful, you feel like somebody knows you’re alive, you feel fear because it could be a bomb, because you think you’re that important.
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It’s a pleasure to dive into Hirshberg’s storytelling skills in American Morons.
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That she might not actually know us seemed the humblest thing a mother could admit.
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But what I kept wondering about is this: that first second when she felt her skirt burning, what did she think?
AIMEE BENDER