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I felt the crumpled paper that had taken the place of my lungs expand as if released from a fist.

Aimee Bender

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Aimee Bender
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: June 28
Novelist
Writer
the United States of America
Expand
Paper
Taken
Felt
Crumpled
Place
Fist
Released
Fists
Lungs

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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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To see someone you love, in a bad setting, is one of the great barometers of gratitude.
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The wine glasses are empty except for that one undrinkable red spot at the bottom.
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It seemed to happen in springs, the revealing of things.
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Mom flipped through the magazines like the pages needed to be slapped.
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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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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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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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You try, you seem totally nuts, you go underground.
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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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When language is treated beautifully and interestingly, it can feel good for the body: It's nourishing it's rejuvenating.
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As a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake.
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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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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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Language is the ticket to plot and character, after all, because both are built out of language.
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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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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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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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…kissing George was a little like rolling in caramel after spending years surviving off rice sticks.
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