Quotes from Susanna Moore

I never paid much attention to cops before, and if I did, I saw them as adversaries. Not unlike the way Detective Malloy sees women.

and with a low moan he entered me with such ease, such presumption, that I began to come the moment he was inside of me.

Although I do not like anyone intervening on my behalf, especially a man, I would have been very happy if Malloy had told Rodriguez to go fuck himself.

essay on the language of the dying

Give me my Scallop shell of quiet. You know, they did not print the whole of the Indian song in the subway. Only a few lines. But I know the poem. "It's off in the distance. It came into the room. It's here in the circle." I know the poem. She knows the poem

His orgasm was short, doubled and tripled with a quick convulsion, so private, so disciplined that he made no cry, no whisper, no exhortation.

It's like trying to remember a dream," I said. "It's in me somewhere.

The bravado, the resentment in the writing excites them, but they cannot allow themselves to feel it.

They make these confessions to me in a shyly flirtatious way, as if they were trying to seduce me.

What is it exactly that I'm allowed to do with you?" I asked. "Anything you want.

Nowhere is there a sense of peace.

I was corrupted in other ways. I was led to believe that intelligence made a difference.

There was an alluring symmetry to him.

I wanted to see his face. He could see mine.

Pauline, who claims completely disingenuously to fuck only married men because she prefers to be alone on the holidays . . .

I decided that if he noticed my notebooks, I'd say that I was writing in my diary. A safe girl-thing to be doing.

I realized that he'd been trying to work up the interest to flirt with me.

It upsets her that I do not have a boyfriend. She claims to understand why she does not have one, but she thinks it is preposterous that I don't. Both my clothes and my solitary life being instances of my unwillingness to seek romance.

I remembered that it was masculine gestures that aroused me.

I don't want a boyfriend," I said. "I don't even want any more friends." "What about a fuck?" "That would be fine.

It was that time when I am finally able to sleep the sweetest, the deepest.

How do you know I'm a writer?" I asked. "I can tell," he said. "You're making shit up in your head all the time.

A dangerous combination for me. Language and passion.

sentimentality being an emotion that for me usually attends later in the night.