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What did dead mean, Ray wondered. It meant lost, it meant frozen, it meant gone.

Alice Sebold

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Alice Sebold
Age: 62
Born: 1962
Born: September 6
Novelist
Writer
Madison
Wisconsin
Bones
Lovely
Meant
Dead
Gone
Lost
Wondered
Mean
Frozen
Rays

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Who would have thought something that happened that long ago could have such power?
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Heaven is comfort, but it's still not living.
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Learn a language of another country and then you can go to that country: a place where the problems of your family will not follow. A language they do not speak.
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When I was raped I lost my virginity and almost lost my life. I also discarded certain assumptions I had held about how the world worked and about how safe I was.
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To transform experience and thought into language and narrative - that is beautiful even if that beauty is in brokenness.
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When the dead are done with the living, the living can go on to other things, Franny said. What about the dead? I asked. Where do we go?
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He was beginning to understand: You were treated special and, later, something horrible would be told to you.
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Loss could be used as a measure of beauty in a woman.
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I'm fine with whatever comes my way, and whatever doesn't come my way I'm fine with too. I have a very laissez-faire attitude with the whole thing.
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The dead are never exactly seen by the living, but many people seem acutely aware of something changed around them. They speak of a chill in the air. The mates of the deceased wake from dreams and see a figure standing at the end of thier bed, or in a doorway, or boarding, phantomlike, a city bus.
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but, he also said it because part of him wanted more of her, this cold woman who was not exactly cold, this rock who was not stone.
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I watched my brother and my father. The truth was very different from what we learned in school. The truth was the line between the living and the dead could be, it seemed, murky and blurred.
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I would do exactly what you are doing: I would talk to everyone I needed to, I would not tell too many people his name. When I was sure, she said, I would find a quiet way, and I would kill him.
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There wasn't a lot of bullshit in my heaven.
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Then a little voice in him said, Let go, let go, let go
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I live in a world where two truths coexist: where both hell and hope lie in the palm of my hand
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I left my mark on that man.
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I stared at her black hair. It was shiny like the promises in magazines.
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Poison and medicine are often the same thing, given in different proportions
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And my sister, my Lindsey, left me in her memories, where I was meant to be.
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