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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
Come
Seventy
Believe
Seventies
Never
Believed
Time
Longer
Alone
Waiting
Talk
Rescued
Anything
Patiently

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Part of the creative process for me is an invitation for readers to follow their imagination.
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Our only kiss was like an accident- a beautiful gasoline rainbow.
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Well, as my dad would say, it means she’s out of this shithole.
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I like gardening - it's a place where I find myself when I need to lose myself.
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But also I wanted him to go away and leave me be. I was granted one weak grace. Back in the room where the green chair was still warm from his body, I blew that lonely, flickering candle out
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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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She no longer believed in talk. It never rescued anything.
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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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What did dead mean, Ray wondered. It meant lost, it meant frozen, it meant gone.
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I was like I was in science class: I was curious.
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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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You're not supposed to look back, you're supposed to keep going.
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You could not be filled with hate and be beautiful. Like any other girl, I wanted to be beautiful. But I was filled with hate.
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