Language is the ticket to plot and character, after all, because both are built out of language.
AIMEE BENDERI give boring people something to discuss over corn.
More Aimee Bender Quotes
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You feel wonderful, you feel like somebody knows you’re alive, you feel fear because it could be a bomb, because you think you’re that important.
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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 is all about numbers. It is all about sequence. It’s the mathematical logic of being alive.
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The wine glasses are empty except for that one undrinkable red spot at the bottom.
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I give boring people something to discuss over corn.
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Mom flipped through the magazines like the pages needed to be slapped.
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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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As a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake.
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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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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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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 didn’t mind the quiet stretches. It was like we were trying out the idea of being side by side.
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You can ruin anything if you focus at it.
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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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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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It seemed to happen in springs, the revealing of things.
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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 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 was like we were exchanging codes, on how to be a father and a daughter, like we’d read about it in a manual, translated from another language, and were doing our best with what we could understand.
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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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While she cut the mushrooms, she cried more than she had at the grave.
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But the sky is interesting, it changes all the time.
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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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I’m obsessed with adolescence. I love to write about people in their 20s.
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