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Famous Grant Ginder Quotes

“It's got to be disappointing, being called all those things." Nancy thinks: How long has she been doing this? Nearly twenty years--she can pin it to the month. The answer to that question can never untie itself from her husband's death: when Howard was killed, Nancy ran. Since then she has been called, among other things, a bitch, a cunt, a slut. Hysterical, emotional, irrational. Too fat, too thin, too tall, too short. Murderer of a husband, mother of a faggot, destroyer of liberty. A harpy, a ballbuster, a snowflake, a traitor. But also: a fighter. A role model. Sunglasses on, coat collar popped, walking down the Capitol steps. A hope, and probably just as often, a threat. The reason that the Republic might ultimately prevail, but also the source of its ultimate demise. She says: "America is disappointing, Cate. That's why we do what we do.”

“Inevitably there would be a complaint about dark faces, moving around neighborhoods where they didn't belong, and then another about gay teachers, making queers of their students. A world turned on its head! Tradition being destroyed! A way of life at stake! It didn't matter if it was about headscarves in the Marais, or a fight about bathrooms in North Carolina--the complaint was always the same. Toxic nostalgia porn, is how Nancy likes to describe it. Men who get off by sticking their heads in the sand. Who swear the future is destroying their country, as they pick bones from their teeth.”

“The class was divided in to three stations, and Robbie B explained eash of them to me with a g-less version of its corresponding gerund; trampin', liftin', whippin'....In liftin' I'd be doing things with weights: curling them. pressing them over my head -- the sort of shit that I'm sure people consider manual labor elsewhere, but that in New York you pay fifty-two dollars to do.”

“The class was not fun, as Nick had promisjed....Once, Robbie B yelled at me over this microphone, by name, to "whip" harder, so I did. I whipped so fucking hard that as he was walking by, the rope sprang up and hit him in the face....His nose was red and blood was poring down hto his shirt. He started clapping.... "You don't need help? You don't want me to stop?" "Don't stop! Never stop!”

“...Henrique is very much alive. But the temptation to fantasize, to imagine the thousands of bloody and gruesome ways that her ex-husband could have met his end...She wonders how Kim is conceiving of it....Donna won't give her an explanation. She prefers instead that the stranger she lies to imagine and reimagine Henrique's death on their lunch breaks, their drives home. She comforts herself knowing that, at least, for the next few hours, Kim will be killing Henrique in their mind. A thousand tiny deaths.”