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.
AIMEE BENDERIt’s such a fraught and exciting and kind of horrible time.
More Aimee Bender Quotes
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That she might not actually know us seemed the humblest thing a mother could admit.
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Not getting bored of my own story and/or character is one of the main struggles.
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My lover is experiencing reverse evolution.
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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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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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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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My genes, my love, are rubber bands and rope; make yourself a structure you can live inside. Amen.” – Aimee Bender (Willful Creatures: Stories)
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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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It’s a pleasure to dive into Hirshberg’s storytelling skills in American Morons.
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Mom flipped through the magazines like the pages needed to be slapped.
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Glen Hirshberg’s stories are haunting, absolutely, but not only because of the content.
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I was with them for all of it, but more like an echo than a participant.
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It is so often surprising, who rescues you at your lowest moments.
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While she cut the mushrooms, she cried more than she had at the grave.
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Kissing George was a little like rolling in caramel after spending years surviving off rice sticks.
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You’re the perfect girl’, he said, rubbing his chin. ‘You expect nothing.
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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.
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The wine glasses are empty except for that one undrinkable red spot at the bottom.
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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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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 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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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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I’m obsessed with adolescence. I love to write about people in their 20s.
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It seemed to happen in springs, the revealing of things.
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The writing I tend to think of as ‘good’ is good because it’s mysterious.
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It is all about numbers. It is all about sequence. It’s the mathematical logic of being alive.
AIMEE BENDER