Mom loved my brother more. Not that she didn’t love me – I felt the wash of her love every day.
AIMEE BENDERThe 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.
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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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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I give boring people something to discuss over corn.
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As a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake.
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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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I was right at the edge of their circle, like the tail of a Q…
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While she cut the mushrooms, she cried more than she had at the grave.
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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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You can ruin anything if you focus at it.
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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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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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It is all about numbers. It is all about sequence. It’s the mathematical logic of being alive.
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But the sky is interesting, it changes all the time.
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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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That she might not actually know us seemed the humblest thing a mother could admit.
AIMEE BENDER