She smiled at him, with longing. 'Where do you live,' she asked, 'and how do I get there?
Lorrie MooreI count too heavily on birthdays, though I know I shouldn't. Inevitably I begin to assess my life by them, figure out how I'm doing by how many people remember; it's like the old fantasy of attending your own funeral: You get to see who your friends are, get to see who shows up.
Lorrie MooreTags: birthdays
She was unequal to anyone's wistfulness. She had made too little of her life. Its loneliness shamed her like a crime.
Lorrie MooreYou couldn't pretend you had lost nothing... you had to begin there, not let your blood freeze over. If your heart turned away at this, it would turn away at something greater, then more and more until your heart stayed averted, immobile, your imagination redistributed away from the world and back only toward the bad maps of yourself, the sour pools of your own pulse, your own tiny, mean, and pointless wants.
Lorrie MooreThe affectionate farce I make of him ignores the ways I feel his lack of love for me. But we are managing.
Lorrie MooreWhen you were six you thought mistress meant to put your shoes on the wrong feet," she writes. "Now you are older and know it can mean many things, but essentially it means to put your shoes on the wrong feet.
Lorrie MooreThere were moments bristling with deadness, when she looked out at her life and went, "What?" Or worse, feeling interrupted and tired, "Wha—?
Lorrie MooreTags: birds-of-america
If God Speaks Through Burning Bushes, Let's Burn Bush and Listen to What God Says.
Lorrie MooreI had one elegantly folded cookie—a short paper nerve baked in an ear.
Lorrie MooreTags: food
Which is it," she asked. "Is it CLIToris or clotORis?"
I didn't know. Why didn't I know? "It may depend on which you have," I said.
Tags: clitorises
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