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By AnonymRick Moody
Updike worked this way, and I just kinda borrowed it from him. So the memoir will be relief from novel writing for a moment.
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By AnonymRick Moody
Being right and being happy are on opposite ends of this dance that is the life of human machines.
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By AnonymRick Moody
[I]t is things that make us happy when conversation begins to reveal itself as a paltry substitute.
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By AnonymRick Moody
Never the romance without the bloodshed!
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By AnonymRick Moody
Normally, I am a little insecure about myself without a shirt on, as my days of being attractive are now behind me.
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By AnonymRick Moody
There should be a sex-related metric with which you could measure sex in hotels, especially the illicit variety, but of what would that metric consist? How about increments of remorse?
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By AnonymRick Moody
There were just enough flaws to make her perfect.
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By AnonymRick Moody
The thing you did to alleviate the loneliness was to take off your clothes and touch someone, even if you didn’t really know the person well.
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By AnonymRick Moody
What kind of woman was she? What kind of woman was it who called to me from that calamity on the Seventh Avenue line? What kind of woman do I love now, with a fealty that will not cease, not till my occluded arteries send their clots up to the spongy interiors in my skull and I go mute and slack? I love the kind of woman whose hair has gone gray in a not terribly flattering way, the kind who doesn't even notice how she has to keeps having to buy larger jeans, the kind who likes big cars because she doesn't like to be uncomfortable. I love this woman because she is gifted with astounding premonitory skills: no matter how uncertain, how despondent, how lost her mate feels, no matter how dire the circumstances, she nonetheless predicts that Everything will be roses.
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By AnonymRick Moody
What was boring was somehow more elegant, more perfect, for it was incontrovertible. The boring was everything that certainly was. The boring was everything that had stood the test of time. The boring was that set of truths that were so long fixed that erosion had begun to sand them down. The boring was geological; the boring was universal. The boring, therefore, was preferable.
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