I like birthday cake. It’s so symbolic. It’s a tempting symbol to load with something more complicated than just ‘Happy birthday!’ because it’s this emblem of childhood and a happy day.
AIMEE BENDERAs a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake.
More Aimee Bender Quotes
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A Dorito asks nothing of you, which is its great gift. It only asks that you are not there.
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The most so far, because she found the saddest thing of all to be the simple truth of her capacity to move on.
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It is all about numbers. It is all about sequence. It’s the mathematical logic of being alive.
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To see someone you love, in a bad setting, is one of the great barometers of gratitude.
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I watched as she added a question mark at the end. Arc, line, space, dot.
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Before she knew it was candles, did she think she’d done it herself? With the amazing turns of her hips.
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I don’t think so, I don’t agree. The most unbearable thing I think by far, she said, is hope.
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I admired that stride; it was like he folded space in two with it.
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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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and I get refill number three or four and the wine is making my bones loose and it’s giving my hair a red sheen and my breasts are blooming and my eyes feel sultry and wise and the dress is water.
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Sometimes, she said, mostly to herself, I feel I do not know my children…
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Not getting bored of my own story and/or character is one of the main struggles.
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Listen. Look. Desire is a house. Desire needs closed space. Desire runs out of doors or windows, or slats or pinpricks, it can’t fit under the sky, too large. Close the doors. Close the windows.
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It is so often surprising, who rescues you at your lowest moments.
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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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Kissing George was a little like rolling in caramel after spending years surviving off rice sticks.
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Glen Hirshberg’s stories are haunting, absolutely, but not only because of the content.
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The wine glasses are empty except for that one undrinkable red spot at the bottom.
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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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Language is the ticket to plot and character, after all, because both are built out of language.
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That she might not actually know us seemed the humblest thing a mother could admit.
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Pouring over me, but it was a different kind, siphoned from a different, and tamer, body of water. I was her darling daughter; Joseph was her it.
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As a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake.
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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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She is the first gesture that creates a quiet that is full enough to make the baby sleep. My genes, my love, are rubber bands and rope; make yourself a structure you can live inside. Amen.
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We hit the sidewalk, and dropped hands. How I wished, right then, that the whole world was a street.
AIMEE BENDER