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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.

Alice Sebold

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Alice Sebold
Age: 62
Born: 1962
Born: September 6
Novelist
Writer
Madison
Wisconsin
Living
Blurred
Father
Watched
Seemed
Truth
Line
School
Brother
Different
Dead
Learned
Lines
Murky

More quotes by Alice Sebold

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In my 20s, I railed against anything 'spiritual', I thought it was all crap.
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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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Since then I've always thought that under rape in the dictionary it should tell the truth. It is not just forcible intercourse rape means to inhabit and destroy everything.
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I stared at her black hair. It was shiny like the promises in magazines.
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I was in the air around him. I was in the cold mornings he had now. I was in the quiet time he spent alone. I was the girl he had chosen to kiss. He wanted, somehow to set me free. -Susie Salmon
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Loss could be used as a measure of beauty in a woman.
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The sun came through the branches of the tree above her, and Ruth looked up past them. I think she listens, she said, too softly to be heard.
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I left my mark on that man.
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And my sister, my Lindsey, left me in her memories, where I was meant to be.
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Sometimes the dreams that come true are the dreams you never even knew you had.
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You save yourself or you remain unsaved.
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I mean, if I went into my closet, I could find a previous draft and try to figure that out, but it takes a long time for me to find the voice to tell a story in. I was working from other points of view for a couple years there.
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Then a little voice in him said, Let go, let go, let go
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He took the hat from my mouth. ''Tell me you love me'', he said. Gently I did. The end came anyway
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She didn't even have to smile, and she rarely did outside her house--it was the eyes, her dancer's carriage, the way she seemed to deliberate over the smallest movement of her body.
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Well, it's my voice, so it's more accessible that way, and there are also all sorts of things like plot and timelines that are already known entities, so for me, it's very different from writing fiction.
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As if in the other side of his kiss there could ve a new life
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I have never been shy about listening to the input of others and weighing it seriously.
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I watched my beautiful sister running . . . and I knew she was not running away from me or toward me. Like someone who has survived a gut-shot, the wound had been closing, closing - braiding into a scar for eight long years.
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The damage can fester under layers of time and change, and an ignorant, thoughtless remark can easily reopen the wound.
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