Alison Bechdel Quotes

Lois: [intercepting a man in the women's bookstore] Can I help you find something, sir?
Man: Um... just browsing.
Lois: Hmm... I find that publication rather tame myself. Have you ever seen this one? This month there's a hot photo spread of three totally tattooed babes with strap-ons doing an armpit shaving scene. And if you're looking for a real thrill, check out the story, "She Came in Waves," in this new female ejaculation anthology!
Man: 'Scuse me, I think I left my car at a hydrant.

I have never read Sylvia Plath. My mother has never read Virginia Woolf. In general, we have stayed out of one another's way like this.

At thirteen, I was so paralyzed with self-consciousness that sometimes I'd get home from school and realize I hadn't spoken out loud all day. Later, I would blame my social awkwardness on my homosexuality. But now I speculate that being a lesbian actually saved me... If it weren't for the unconventionality of my desires, my mind might never have been forced to reckon with my body.

There are two ways to surpass your parents. Ones is to achieve the thing they had hoped for. One is somewhat easier: just to live longer.

Anjali: Oh, wow. I am tripping out that I actually get to work here! Being constantly surrounded by books! Bringing ideas, poems, and manifestoes to the world! How can you stand it?!
Jezanna: That reminds me, Lois. The lube shipment just came in.

Bookstore boss: [to Mo] The self-service kiosks have enabled us to cut down on staff, but some customers still feel the need to speak to an actual human. That's where you come in.
Customer: Excuse me, do you carry Jewish New Year cards?
Boss: I'm sorry, our New Years cards don't come in till November. But we'll be getting Jewish Christmas cards then, too!

But how could he admire Joyce’s lengthy, libidinal ‘yes’ so fervently and end up saying ‘no’ to his own life? I suppose that a lifetime spent hiding one’s erotic truth could have a cumulative renunciatory effect.
Sexual shame is in itself a kind of death.

Perhaps I'm being histrionic, trying to displace my actual grief with this imaginary trauma.

It’s true that he didn’t kill himself until I was nearly twenty. But his absence resonated retroactively, echoing back through all the time I knew him. Maybe it was the converse of the way amputees feel pain in a missing limb. He really was there all those years, a flesh-and-blood presence steaming off the wallpaper, digging up the dogwoods, polishing the finials... smelling of sawdust and sweat and designer cologne. But I ached as if he were already gone.

The sudden approximation of my dull, provincial life to a New Yorker cartoon was exhilarating.

"How Horrid" has a slightly facetious tone that strikes me as Wildean. It appears to embrace the actual horror — puberty, public disgrace — then at the last second nimbly sidesteps it, laughing.

Alice Miller writes that the child who suppresses his own feelings in order to accomodate a parent has been, in a sense, abandoned.

'Later, when these feelings of being deserted begin to emerge in the analysis of the adult, they are accompanied by such intensity of pain and despair that it is quite clear that these people could not have survived so much pain. That would only have been possible in an empathic, attentive environment, and this they lacked. [as quoted by Alice Miller]'

She also says that the mother who requires accommodation from her child is just trying to get what her own mother refused her.

Lois: You're never gonna meet anyone hanging around here with the tactical nuclear family.

Sexual shame is in itself a kind of death.

I grew to resent the way my father treated his furniture like children, and his children like furniture.