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And why had Deb's last boyfriend dumped her? I dumped him. Maybe you didn't French-kiss him enough. I promise you that wasn't it. Tell me how many times a day you kissed, and I'll say if it was enough. Four hundred. Not enough.

Miranda July

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Miranda July
Age: 50
Born: 1974
Born: February 15
Actor
Artist
Film Actor
Film Director
Musician
Screenwriter
Writer
Barre
Vermont
Miranda J. Grossinger
Times
Kissing
Tell
Promise
Didn
Hundred
Enough
Wasn
Dumped
Many
Maybe
Kissed
Four
Boyfriend
Lasts
French
Last
Kiss

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But, like ivy, we grow where there is room for us.
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… it wasn’t pretend, I wasn’t in a fairytale or a fable. I shut my eyes and absorbed the silent whoomp that always accompanies this revelation. It’s the sound of the real world, gigantic and impossible, replacing the smaller version of reality that I wear like a bonnet, clutched tightly under my chin.
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Since I started making art, I've always had some kind of project that was really about and for other people, because I think I just need that balance to feel sane myself — you know?
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I didn't have any vices before the Internet. There are a lot of cracks in the day, moments where you don't know what to do next, so you have a little hole where you look at your phone. You want something that will mean you're not alone in that moment.
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We humans are here because nothing can be perfect. There always have to be some living things that are unsatisfied, itchy, trying too hard. If it was all just animals and rocks and lettuce, the gods wouldn't feel like they had enough to do.
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I was going to die and it was taking forever.
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A more normal, mature way to think about it [my work] would be, Oh, I work on multiple projects at once and they overlap, but the actual psychology of it is a lot more self-abusing.
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People tend to hold on to their first impressions - that's why those first descriptions can be so important. You don't even necessarily look at people that carefully after a while you just hold on to that early impression.
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He seemed to be waiting for me to move forward. Weren't we all.
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They wordlessly excused each other for not loving each other as much as they had planned to. There were empty rooms in the house where they had meant to put their love, and they worked together to fill these rooms with midcentury modern furniture. (Birthmark).
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My ideal life is just lounging around the house and every once in a while I'll kind of write something, and then I'll leave and eat something and masturbate or whatever - just this very fluid life of comforting myself.
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I spend a lot of time obsessing about getting a dignified eight hours' sleep.
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She never inquired, but she never recoiled, either. This is a quality that I look for in a person, not recoiling.
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I like embracing kind of normal forms but am always trying to approach them as if no one's ever done that before. As if I'm literally the first person to ever write a book.
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I don't tally the world, asking, Would this annoy you? Would this annoy you? That's so far removed from where I'm at when I'm in the trenches struggling with how to express things that I don't fully understand myself.
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I wish there were a class where we could just keep going around the circle. around and around, until we had finally said everything about ourselves.
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When I write, I wear earplugs. I don't want to be self-conscious. I don't want to be thinking about the fact that I'm thinking about it. I just want to be in it. It's one element of hypnosis.
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I had a joint once and I didn't feel right for a whole year
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If there were a map of the solar system, but instead of stars it showed people and their degrees of separation, my star would be the one you had to travel the most light-years from to get to his. You would die getting to him.
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He breathed out the bitter air that makes women doubt everything, and I breathed it in, as I had always done. I expelled my dust, the powder of everything I had destroyed with doubt, and he pulled it into his lungs.
Miranda July