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
sex dirty want
You emptied the top rack of the dishwasher but not the bottom, so the clean dishes have gotten all mixed up with the dirty ones - and now you want to have sex?
men water car
Perhaps she drives men away. Perhaps, without even being able to help herself, she just puts men into her ill-tempered car and drives them off: to quarries, dumps, small anonymous bodies of water.
mistake treasure faces
When you find out who you are, you will no longer be innocent. That will be sad for others to see. All that knowledge will show on your face and change it. But sad only for others, not for yourself. You will feel you have a kind of wisdom, very mistaken, but a mistake of some power to you and so you will sadly treasure it and grow it.
dream past doors
Blasts from the past were like the rooms one entered and re-entered in dreams: they would not stay nailed down. When you returned to them, they had changed - they suddenly had more space or a tilt or a door that had not been there before. New people were milling around, the floors undulated, and the sun shone newly, strangely in the windows, or through the now blasted-open ceiling, or else it shone not at all, as if having fled the sky.
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.
girl voice dumb
I wished for eternal and intriguing muteness. I would be the Mysterious Dumb Girl, the Enigmatic Elf. The human voice no longer interested me.
car lust desire
She had, without realizing it at the time, learned to follow Nick's gaze, learned to learn his lust...his desires remained memorized within her. She looked at the attractive women he would look at...She had become him: she longed for these women. But she was also herself, and so she despised them. She lusted after them, but she also wanted to beat them up. A rapist. She had become a rapist, driving to work in a car.
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.
love-is lucky fever
Love is a fever," she said. "And when you come out of it you'll discover whether you've been lucky - or not.
ice glasses faster
Things between us were dissolving like an ice cub in a glass: the smaller it got, the faster it disappeared.
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?
sadness shadow sentimental
Every arrangement in life carried with it the sadness, the sentimental shadow, of its not being something else, but only itself.
people plot dead-people
Plots are for dead people.