Lorrie Moore
Lorrie Moore
Lorrie Mooreis an American fiction writer known mainly for her humorous and poignant short stories...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionSelf-Help Author
Date of Birth13 January 1957
CityGlens Falls, NY
CountryUnited States of America
longing
She smiled at him, with longing. 'Where do you live,' she asked, 'and how do I get there?
want cool-person hey
I just don't want you to feel uncomfortable about this," he says. Say: "Hey. I am a very cool person. I am tough." Show him your bicep.
writing limits wonder
Begin to wonder what you do write about. Or if you have anything to say. Or even if there is such a thing as a thing to say. Limit these thoughts to no more than ten minutes a day; like sit-ups, they can make you thin
magic tricks
Once love had seemed like magic. Now it seemed like tricks.
vivid-imagination should turns
One should never turn one's back on a vivid imagination.
love-you killers planets
Those are the love killers. They love you and then they kill you. They're from another planet. Supposedly.
second-best settling
Women now were told not to settle for second best, told that they deserved better, but at a time, it seemed, when there was so much less to go around.
two long three
This was love, I supposed, and eventually I would come to know it. Someday it would choose me and I would come to know its spell, for long stretches and short, two times, maybe three, and then quite probably it would choose me never again.
weather vortex might
But family life sometimes had a vortex, like weather. It could be like a tornado in a quiet zigzag: get close enough and you might see within it a spinning eighteen-wheeler and a woman.
endurance want
I want to pretend there's such a thing as requited love. As the endurance of love.
twenties metaphor possession
We had put almost all of our possessions in storage, which was a metaphor for being twenty, as were so many things.
spine i-realized
I missed him. Love, I realized, was something your spine memorized. There was nothing you could do about that.
heart thinking air
I often think that at the center of me is a voice that at last did split, a house in my heart so invaded with other people and their speech, friends I believed I was devoted to, people whose lives I can simply guess at now, that it gives me the impression I am simply a collection of them, that they all existed for themselves, but had inadvertently formed me, then vanished. But, what: Should I have been expected to create my own self, out of nothing, out of thin, thin air and alone?
rain dust civilization
[T]he normal and the everyday are often amazingly unstoppable, and what is unimaginable is the cessation of them. The world is resilient, and, no matter what interruptions occur, people so badly want to return to their lives and get on with them. A veneer of civilization descends quickly, like a shining rain. Dust is settled.