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Our only kiss was like an accident- a beautiful gasoline rainbow.

Alice Sebold

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Alice Sebold
Age: 62
Born: 1962
Born: September 6
Novelist
Writer
Madison
Wisconsin
Accidents
Kissing
Beautiful
Like
Gasoline
Rainbow
Accident
Kiss

More quotes by Alice Sebold

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Depending on where I am in the process, sometimes I have a page count and sometimes I don't. Sometimes I have an hour count sometimes I'm just happy to string a few words together. I do keep pretty rigorous hours, because otherwise you never get anything done.
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Loss could be used as a measure of beauty in a woman.
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She liked to imagine that when she passed, the world looked after her, but she also knew how anonymous she was. Except when she was at work, no one knew where she was at any time of day and no one waited for her. It was immaculate anonymity.
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I left my mark on that man.
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The shadow of years was not as big on his small body. He knew I was away . But when people left they always came back.
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Every day a question mark.
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I have always felt extremely weird. But I am very happy with my weirdnesses, and I want other people to be very happy with theirs.
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I wish you all a long and happy life
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Murderers are not monsters, they're men. And that's the most frightening thing about them.
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I have never been shy about listening to the input of others and weighing it seriously.
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The alcohol had the effect of making the black cloth blacker. This amused her she had noted in her journal: booze affects material as it does people.
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In this deeply nuanced portrait of an American family, Bret Anthony Johnston fearlessly explores the truth behind a mythic happy ending. In Remember Me Like This, Johnston presents an incisive dismantling of an all-too-comforting fallacy: that in being found we are no longer lost.
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I had rescued the moment by using my camera and in that way had found how to stop time and hold it. No one could take that image away from me because I owned it.
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If I shut my eyes, I believed, I would disappear. To make it through, I had to be present the whole time.
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Each time I told my story, I lost a bit, the smallest drop of pain.
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There was one thing my murderer didn't understand he didn't understand how much a father could love his child.
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When the music stopped, it could have been forever since we'd begun. My grandfather took a step back, and the light grew yellow at his back. 'I'm going,' he said. 'Where?' I asked. 'Don't worry, sweetheart. You're so close.' He turned and walked away, disappearing rapidly into spots and dust. Infinity.
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I was like I was in science class: I was curious.
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Last night it had been my father who had finally said it: She’s never coming home. A clear and easy piece of truth that everyone who had ever known me had accepted. But he needed to say it, and she needed to hear him say it.
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Life is a perpetual yesterday for us.
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