Language is the ticket to plot and character, after all, because both are built out of language.
AIMEE BENDERI want to be violated by insight.
More Aimee Bender Quotes
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Sometimes, she said, mostly to herself, I feel I do not know my children…
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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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Kissing George was a little like rolling in caramel after spending years surviving off rice sticks.
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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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She is the first gesture that creates a quiet that is full enough to make the baby sleep. My genes, my love, are rubber bands and rope; make yourself a structure you can live inside. Amen.
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Not getting bored of my own story and/or character is one of the main struggles.
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You try, you seem totally nuts, you go underground.
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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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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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We hit the sidewalk, and dropped hands. How I wished, right then, that the whole world was a street.
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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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Before she knew it was candles, did she think she’d done it herself? With the amazing turns of her hips.
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You can ruin anything if you focus at it.
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I admired that stride; it was like he folded space in two with it.
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It is so often surprising, who rescues you at your lowest moments.
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Large meadows are lovely for picnics and romping, but they are for the lighter feelings. Meadows do not make me want to write.
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When the light at Vernon turned green, we stepped into the street and George grabbed my hand and the ghosts of our younger selves crossed with us.
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That she might not actually know us seemed the humblest thing a mother could admit.
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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 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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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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To see someone you love, in a bad setting, is one of the great barometers of gratitude.
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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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There’s a gift in your lap and it’s beautifully wrapped and it’s not your birthday.
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As a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake.
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The wine glasses are empty except for that one undrinkable red spot at the bottom.
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