Large meadows are lovely for picnics and romping, but they are for the lighter feelings. Meadows do not make me want to write.
AIMEE BENDERI 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.
More Aimee Bender Quotes
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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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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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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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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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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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You’re the perfect girl’, he said, rubbing his chin. ‘You expect nothing.
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That’s the thing with handmade items. They still have the person’s mark on them, and when you hold them, you feel less alone.
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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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You try, you seem totally nuts, you go underground.
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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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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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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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A Dorito asks nothing of you, which is its great gift. It only asks that you are not there.
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I give boring people something to discuss over corn.
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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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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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Glen Hirshberg’s stories are haunting, absolutely, but not only because of the content.
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My eyelids are my own private cave, he murmured. That I can go to anytime I want.
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I was with them for all of it, but more like an echo than a participant.
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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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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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When language is treated beautifully and interestingly, it can feel good for the body: It’s nourishing; it’s rejuvenating.
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He was also removing all traces of any tiny leftover parts, and suddenly a ritual which I’d always found incestuous and gross seemed to me more like a desperate act on Joseph’s part to get out, to leave, to extract every little last remnant and bring it into open air.
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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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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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Mom loved my brother more. Not that she didn’t love me – I felt the wash of her love every day.
AIMEE BENDER