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.
AIMEE BENDERIt 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.
More Aimee Bender Quotes
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The writing I tend to think of as ‘good’ is good because it’s mysterious.
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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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Glen Hirshberg’s stories are haunting, absolutely, but not only because of the content.
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Mom flipped through the magazines like the pages needed to be slapped.
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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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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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Sometimes, she said, mostly to herself, I feel I do not know my children…
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As a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake.
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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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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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We hit the sidewalk, and dropped hands. How I wished, right then, that the whole world was a street.
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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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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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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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I was with them for all of it, but more like an echo than a participant.
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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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My lover is experiencing reverse evolution.
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It seemed to happen in springs, the revealing of things.
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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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I admired that stride; it was like he folded space in two with it.
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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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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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Not getting bored of my own story and/or character is one of the main struggles.
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It’s a pleasure to dive into Hirshberg’s storytelling skills in American Morons.
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