I peeled the skin off a grape in slippery little triangles, and I understood then that I would be undressing every item of food I could because my clothes would be staying on.
AIMEE BENDERIt is all about numbers. It is all about sequence. It’s the mathematical logic of being alive.
More Aimee Bender Quotes
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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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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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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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I felt the crumpled paper that had taken the place of my lungs expand as if released from a fist.
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Glen Hirshberg’s stories are haunting, absolutely, but not only because of the content.
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I’m obsessed with adolescence. I love to write about people in their 20s.
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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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Many kids, it seemed, would find out that their parents were flawed, messed-up people later in life, and I didn’t appreciate getting to know it all so strong and early.
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This is why everyone who eats a Whopper leaves a little more depressed than they were when they came in. Nobody cooked that burger.
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Mom flipped through the magazines like the pages needed to be slapped.
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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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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.
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It seemed to happen in springs, the revealing of things.
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But I loved George in part because he believed me; because if I stood in a cold, plain room and yelled FIRE, he would walk over and ask me why.
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You try, you seem totally nuts, you go underground.
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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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Light is good company, when alone; I took my comfort where I found it, and the warmest yellow bulb in the living-room lamp had become a kind of radiant babysitter all its own.
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But the sky is interesting, it changes all the time.
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Kissing George was a little like rolling in caramel after spending years surviving off rice sticks.
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Not getting bored of my own story and/or character is one of the main struggles.
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My genes, my love, are rubber bands and rope; make yourself a structure you can live inside. Amen.” – Aimee Bender (Willful Creatures: Stories)
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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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Sometimes, she said, mostly to herself, I feel I do not know my children…
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Mom loved my brother more. Not that she didn’t love me – I felt the wash of her love every day.
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I am not happy, help me — like a message in a bottle sent in each meal to the eater, and I got it. I got the message.
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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.
AIMEE BENDER