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We hit the sidewalk, and dropped hands. How I wished, right then, that the whole world was a street.
Aimee Bender
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Aimee Bender
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: June 28
Novelist
Writer
the United States of America
Hands
Whole
Right
World
Sidewalk
Wished
Dropped
Street
Streets
More quotes by Aimee Bender
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 want to be violated by insight.
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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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I admired that stride it was like he folded space in two with it.
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That's the thing with handmade items. They still have the person's mark on them, and when you hold them, you feel less alone. This is why everyone who eats a Whopper leaves a little more depressed than they were when they came in. Nobody cooked that burger.
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My lover is experiencing reverse evolution.
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I was with them for all of it, but more like an echo than a participant.
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and I get refill number three or four and the wine is making my bones loose and it's giving my hair a red sheen and my breasts are blooming and my eyes feel sultry and wise and the dress is water.
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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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You try, you seem totally nuts, you go underground.
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…kissing George was a little like rolling in caramel after spending years surviving off rice sticks.
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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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But I loved George in part because he believed me because if I stood in a cold, plain room and yelled FIRE, he would walk over and ask me why.
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I knew if I ate anything of hers again, it would lkely tell me the same message: help me, 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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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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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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But the sky is interesting, it changes all the time.
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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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There's a gift in your lap and it's beautifully wrapped and it's not your birthday. 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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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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