While she cut the mushrooms, she cried more than she had at the grave.
AIMEE BENDERThe 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.
More Aimee Bender Quotes
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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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But the sky is interesting, it changes all the time.
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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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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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That she might not actually know us seemed the humblest thing a mother could admit.
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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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Sometimes, she said, mostly to herself, I feel I do not know my children…
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Large meadows are lovely for picnics and romping, but they are for the lighter feelings. Meadows do not make me want to write.
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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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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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But what I kept wondering about is this: that first second when she felt her skirt burning, what did she think?
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I admired that stride; it was like he folded space in two with it.
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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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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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The writing I tend to think of as ‘good’ is good because it’s mysterious.
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It is so often surprising, who rescues you at your lowest moments.
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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.
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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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When language is treated beautifully and interestingly, it can feel good for the body: It’s nourishing; it’s rejuvenating.
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I knew if I ate anything of hers again, it would lkely tell me the same message: help me,
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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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It’s a pleasure to dive into Hirshberg’s storytelling skills in American Morons.
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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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We hit the sidewalk, and dropped hands. How I wished, right then, that the whole world was a street.
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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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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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