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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
Alice Sebold
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Alice Sebold
Age: 62
Born: 1962
Born: September 6
Novelist
Writer
Madison
Wisconsin
Stills
Lonely
Also
Green
Flickering
Still
Weak
Blew
Body
Room
Chair
Back
Rooms
Candle
Wanted
Leave
Chairs
Grace
Granted
Away
Warm
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I would like to tell you that I am, and you will one day be, forever safe.
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I think you only learn what kind of personality you have by committing to things.
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Before, they had never found themselves broken together. Usually, it was one needing the other but not both needing each other, and so there had been a way, by touching, to borrow from the stronger one's strength.
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The relationship with the words someone uses is more intimate and integrated than just a quick read and a blurb can ever be. This intimacy - the words on the page being sent back and forth from engaged editor to open author - is unique in my experience.
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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 missed her then but it was an odd sort of missing because by then, I knew the meaning of forever.
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For me, heaven would be a lack of alienation. The whole time I was growing up, I felt comfort was inherently evil. I think that for me heaven isn't about couches and milk shakes and never having a troubling thought again.
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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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And my sister, my Lindsey, left me in her memories, where I was meant to be.
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I forgive you, I said. I said what I had to. I would die by pieces to save myself from real death.
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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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As she stood in the darkened room and watched my sister and father, I knew one of things that heaven meant. I had a choice, and it was not to divide my family in my heart.
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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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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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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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Like snowflakes,' Franny said,'none of them the same and yet each one, from where we stand, exactly like the one before
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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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She sat in her room on the couch my parents had given up on and worked on hardening herself. Take deep breaths and hold them. Try to stay still for longer and longer periods of time. Make yourself small and like a stone. Curl the edges of yourself up and fold them under where no one can see. ~pg 29, Susie's sister Lindsey dealing with grief.
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He had been my almost. My might-have-been. I was afraid of what I wanted most - His kiss. Still, I collected kiss stories. -Susie Salmon
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There wasn't a lot of bullshit in my heaven.
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