A Quote by Dani Shapiro

Sometimes when I'm at my desk, I'll realize that I have contorted myself completely, and I haven't moved for hours, and that my legs have fallen asleep. I am elsewhere, not in my body, not in the room, not in my house.
I realize that when I moved out of my father’s house I shocked and frightened him because I needed a room of my own, a space of my own to reinvent myself.
I realize that when I moved out of my father's house I shocked and frightened him because I needed a room of my own, a space of my own to reinvent myself.
My legs are falling asleep,” I blurted. It wasn’t a total lie. I was experiencing tingling sensations all through my body, legs included. “I could solve that.” Patch’s hands closed on my hips.
I fell asleep at my desk many times. This was when working on events—virtually every one I’ve done in the last 5 years. I was not confronting the writing of speeches. In fact, I was not wanting to confront what I was doing at the time—being irresponsible... I am now known for falling asleep. This has happened 50 times in the last 5 years and probably 20 times at my desk in the last 2 years.
Stress is when you wake up screaming and realize you haven't fallen asleep yet
Sometimes I feel that a more rational explanation for all that has happened during my lifetime is that I am still only thirteen years old, reading Jules Verne or H. G. Wells, and have fallen asleep.
I can only write new words at my desk, the one I've owned for 25 years. When we moved to our new house I designed my office around it. I've written everything I've ever written at this desk.
I could have an office all to myself but since my collaborators don’t have one, then I too am contented to have a desk in a shared room.
I was like one of the boys in school who flap their legs frantically under the desk. I always had this weird feeling between my legs and I had no idea what it was. I didn't know girls masturbated. I never touched myself or anything.
I don't even realize sometimes I am spending hours and hours on the field, because it is something I decide to do, not something someone else demands of me.
He was sound asleep, his long legs stretched out in front of him, the blessed fire blazing, an empty bottle of wine by his side. He hadn't been shaved recently, and he looked rumpled, dissolute and beautiful. Like a fallen angel. She moved to stand in front of him and pointed the pistol directly at his heart. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he murmured, and then he opened his extraordinary eyes. "It's always unwise to shoot the man you're in love with.
Am I in love? --yes, since I am waiting. The other one never waits. Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn't wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late; but I always lose at this game. Whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time. The lover's fatal identity is precisely this: I am the one who waits.
I am always interested in making myself as uncomfortable as I can. Sometimes I ask myself, 'Can I stand onstage and sing this song and sell it?' Sometimes I can't. In a room, you get to pretend a little bit and step outside of yourself.
I have truly moved beyond my victimization. I do not think of myself as a victim. I don't think of myself as a survivor. I think of myself as someone who through forgiveness has healed her soul and body and moved on to help other people.
I consider myself a D.I.Y. home improvement guy. In a prior life, I completely gutted a house - redid the plumbing, wiring, moved sewage pipes, knocked down walls, everything.
Most people only concentrate on their upper body and ignore their legs. It doesn't make sense to have a bulky upper body and have skinny legs. I too, fell prey to this and had weak legs.
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