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.
AIMEE BENDERIt is so often surprising, who rescues you at your lowest moments.
More Aimee Bender Quotes
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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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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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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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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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That at the same time of this very intimate act of concentrating so carefully on the details of our mother’s palm and fingertips.
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I watched as she added a question mark at the end. Arc, line, space, dot.
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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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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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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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To see someone you love, in a bad setting, is one of the great barometers of gratitude.
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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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Language is the ticket to plot and character, after all, because both are built out of language.
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I am the drying meadow; you the unspoken apology; he is the fluctuating distance between mother and son.
AIMEE BENDER






