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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
Tell
Promise
Didn
Hundred
Enough
Wasn
Dumped
Many
Maybe
Kissed
Four
Boyfriend
Lasts
French
Last
Kiss
Times
Kissing

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I'm interested in what the virtues of all those things are, especially for the kind of person who's made their own world that revolves around them, like writers do. It seems especially precious.
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I had a joint once and I didn't feel right for a whole year
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When I was very little, I probably wanted to be more normal. I probably wanted the Laura Ashley bedroom, and instead I got thrift-store everything.
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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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An erratum is a correction inserted into a book after publication. It's a nice thing to collect because you can't go after them, you just come upon them. In 25 years I've only found about 12.
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But, like ivy, we grow where there is room for us.
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The word God asks a question and then answers it before there is any chance to wonder.
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If you were wise enough to know that this life would consist mostly of letting go of things you wanted, then why not get good at the letting go, rather than the trying to have?
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He was worried she would not let him love her with the stain. He had already decided long ago, twenty or thirty minutes ago, that the stain was fine. He had only seen it for a moment, but he was already used to it. It was good. It somehow allowed them to have more.
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I steeled myself against laughter I would rather die than laugh. I didn’t laugh, I did not laugh. But I died, I did die.
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When you can see the beauty of a tree, then you will know what love is.
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Well,I have a theory that men don't actually cry less than women,they just do it differently. Since we never saw our fathers cry,we are forced to invent our own unique method.
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That day I carried the dream around like a full glass of water, moving gracefully so I would not lose any of it.
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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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The job of the artist is to point at things.
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I wondered if i would spend the rest of my life inventing complicated ways to depress myself.
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When she saw my messy desk, she said she was the same way, and there was no dust on the TV, and I was easy to love. People just need a little help because they are so used to not loving. It's like scoring the clay to make another piece of clay stick to it.
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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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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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