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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.

Aimee Bender

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Aimee Bender
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: June 28
Novelist
Writer
the United States of America
Hands
Wide
Reds
Love
Window
Peering
Looked
Rushes
Rooms
Painted
Building
Buildings
Hand
Windows
Dark
Revealed
Living
Apartment

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I give boring people something to discuss over corn.
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But the sky is interesting, it changes all the time.
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My lover is experiencing reverse evolution.
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The writing I tend to think of as 'good' is good because it's mysterious.
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You try, you seem totally nuts, you go underground.
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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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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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Mom flipped through the magazines like the pages needed to be slapped.
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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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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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When language is treated beautifully and interestingly, it can feel good for the body: It's nourishing it's rejuvenating.
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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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I want to be violated by insight.
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I was right at the edge of their circle, like the tail of a Q...
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The wine glasses are empty except for that one undrinkable red spot at the bottom.
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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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