I am the drying meadow; you the unspoken apology; he is the fluctuating distance between mother and son.
AIMEE BENDERMom flipped through the magazines like the pages needed to be slapped.
More Aimee Bender Quotes
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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 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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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 watched as she added a question mark at the end. Arc, line, space, dot.
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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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It’s a pleasure to dive into Hirshberg’s storytelling skills in American Morons.
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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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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 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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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 want to be violated by insight.
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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 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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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.
AIMEE BENDER