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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.
Aimee Bender
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Aimee Bender
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: June 28
Novelist
Writer
the United States of America
Fire
George
Asks
Believed
Part
Walk
Would
Room
Cold
Rooms
Yelled
Walks
Plain
Loved
Stood
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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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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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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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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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 didn’t mind the quiet stretches. It was like we were trying out the idea of being side by side.
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But the sky is interesting, it changes all the time.
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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 try, you seem totally nuts, you go underground.
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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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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 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 admired that stride it was like he folded space in two with it.
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The writing I tend to think of as 'good' is good because it's mysterious.
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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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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 was right at the edge of their circle, like the tail of a Q...
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My lover is experiencing reverse evolution.
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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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I was with them for all of it, but more like an echo than a participant.
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