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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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Believe Burning Kept Passion Second Skirt Think Thinking Wonder

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Marilyn Monroe Paulo Coelho Abraham Lincoln C. S. Lewis Khalil Gibran Charlie Chaplin Gautama Buddha Isaac Newton

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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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’s a pleasure to dive into Hirshberg’s storytelling skills in American Morons.
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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 was right at the edge of their circle, like the tail of a Q…
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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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And the warmth of the music inside her, did she believe, for even one glorious second, that her passion had arrived?
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It seemed to happen in springs, the revealing of things.
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My lover is experiencing reverse evolution.
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Kissing George was a little like rolling in caramel after spending years surviving off rice sticks.
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It is so often surprising, who rescues you at your lowest moments.
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Glen Hirshberg’s stories are haunting, absolutely, but not only because of the content.
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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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When language is treated beautifully and interestingly, it can feel good for the body: It’s nourishing; it’s rejuvenating.
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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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I was with them for all of it, but more like an echo than a participant.
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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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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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Believe Burning Kept Passion Second Skirt Think Thinking Wonder
That she might not actually know us seemed the humblest thing a mother could admit.
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I am the drying meadow; you the unspoken apology; he is the fluctuating distance between mother and son.
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I am not happy, help me — like a message in a bottle sent in each meal to the eater, and I got it. I got the message.
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As soon as you laugh from nerves or make a joke or say something just to say something or get all involved with the bushes, then you blow open a window in your house of desire and it can’t heat up as well. Cold draft comes in.
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But the sky is interesting, it changes all the time.
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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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You can ruin anything if you focus at it.
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