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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.

Alice Sebold

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Alice Sebold
Age: 62
Born: 1962
Born: September 6
Novelist
Writer
Madison
Wisconsin
Thinking
Branches
Sun
Looked
Tree
Heard
Came
Ruth
Past
Listens
Think
Softly

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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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I was the girl he had chosen to kiss. He wanted, somehow to set me free. He didn't want to burn my photo or toss it away, but he didn't want to look at me anymore, either.
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Our only kiss was like an accident- a beautiful gasoline rainbow.
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Part of the creative process for me is an invitation for readers to follow their imagination.
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Each time I told my story, I lost a bit, the smallest drop of pain.
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Please don't let Daddy die Susie, he whispered. I need him.
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I left my mark on that man.
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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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Do you miss Susie? Because it was dark, because Ruth was facing away from her,because Ruth was almost a stranger, Lindsey said what she felt. More than anyone will ever know.
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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 wish you all a long and happy life
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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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She liked to imagine that when she passed, the world looked after her, but she also knew how anonymous she was. Except when she was at work, no one knew where she was at any time of day and no one waited for her. It was immaculate anonymity.
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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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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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He had a moment of clarity about how life should be lived: not as a child or as a woman. They were the two worst things to be.
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In my 20s, I railed against anything 'spiritual', I thought it was all crap.
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Loss could be used as a measure of beauty in a woman.
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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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A father's suspicion...' she began. Is as powerful as a mother's intuition.' ~pg 87, Ruana Singh and Jack Salmon
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