I watched as she added a question mark at the end. Arc, line, space, dot.
AIMEE BENDERIt’s a pleasure to dive into Hirshberg’s storytelling skills in American Morons.
More Aimee Bender Quotes
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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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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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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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A Dorito asks nothing of you, which is its great gift. It only asks that you are not there.
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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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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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My lover is experiencing reverse evolution.
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As soon as you laugh from nerves or make a joke or say something just to say something or get all involved with the bushes, then you blow open a window in your house of desire and it can’t heat up as well. Cold draft comes in.
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But the sky is interesting, it changes all the time.
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Glen Hirshberg’s stories are haunting, absolutely, but not only because of the content.
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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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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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We hit the sidewalk, and dropped hands. How I wished, right then, that the whole world was a street.
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It’s such a fraught and exciting and kind of horrible time.
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When the light at Vernon turned green, we stepped into the street and George grabbed my hand and the ghosts of our younger selves crossed with us.
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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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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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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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That she might not actually know us seemed the humblest thing a mother could admit.
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I was right at the edge of their circle, like the tail of a Q…
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Sometimes, she said, mostly to herself, I feel I do not know my children…
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You can ruin anything if you focus at it.
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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 want to be violated by insight.
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I’m obsessed with adolescence. I love to write about people in their 20s.
AIMEE BENDER