Quote

But she was waiting patiently. She no longer believed in talk. It never rescued anything. At seventy she had come to believe in time alone. ~pg 254

Alice Sebold

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Alice Sebold
Age: 62
Born: 1962
Born: September 6
Novelist
Writer
Madison
Wisconsin
Talk
Rescued
Anything
Patiently
Come
Seventy
Believe
Seventies
Never
Believed
Time
Longer
Alone
Waiting

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What did dead mean, Ray wondered. It meant lost, it meant frozen, it meant gone.
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It's hard, because when you talk about process or your characters ruling your narrative, it sounds like you have no control, but obviously you're ultimately the author, so you do have control.
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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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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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I don't do much public speaking. I did a lot of stuff for Bones, and then ended up having said yes to a lot of things that kept me on the road for a while for that, but then I pretty much stopped. I'm touring for this book, but when the tour is done, that'll be the end of it.
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I think you only learn what kind of personality you have by committing to things.
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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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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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Well, as my dad would say, it means she’s out of this shithole.
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How could it be that you could love someone so much and keep it secret from yourself as you woke daily so far from home?
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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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Then a little voice in him said, Let go, let go, let go
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Tess was my first experience of a woman who had inhabited her weirdness, moved into the areas of herself that made her distinct from those around her, and learned how to display them proudly.
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Hey, Ocean Eyes,” my father said. “Where’d you go on us?
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I'm just a friendly bystander who they occasionally ask questions of. That's my level of involvement.
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How to Commit the Perfect Murder was an old game in heaven. I always chose the icicle: the weapon melts away.
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