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You're the perfect girl', he said, rubbing his chin. 'You expect nothing.

Aimee Bender

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Aimee Bender
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: June 28
Novelist
Writer
the United States of America
Rubbing
Chin
Chins
Expect
Perfect
Girl
Nothing

More quotes by Aimee Bender

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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, 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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Language is the ticket to plot and character, after all, because both are built out of language.
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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? Before she knew it was candles, did she think she'd done it herself? With the amazing turns of her hips, 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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I am the drying meadow you the unspoken apology he is the fluctuating distance between mother and son 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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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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Light is good company, when alone I took my comfort where I found it, and the warmest yellow bulb in the living-room lamp had become a kind of radiant babysitter all its own.
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…kissing George was a little like rolling in caramel after spending years surviving off rice sticks.
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I could feel the tears beginning to collect in my throat again, but I pushed them apart, away from each other. Tears are only a threat in groups.
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I give boring people something to discuss over corn.
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While she cut the mushrooms, she cried more than she had at the grave, the most so far, because she found the saddest thing of all to be the simple truth of her capacity to move on.
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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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My eyelids are my own private cave, he murmured. That I can go to anytime I want.
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Glen Hirshberg's stories are haunting, absolutely, but not only because of the content -- 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. It's a pleasure to dive into Hirshberg's storytelling skills in American Morons.
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The writing I tend to think of as 'good' is good because it's mysterious.
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When language is treated beautifully and interestingly, it can feel good for the body: It's nourishing it's rejuvenating.
Aimee Bender
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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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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 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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I want to be violated by insight.
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You try, you seem totally nuts, you go underground.
Aimee Bender