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I had always been in love with him. I counted the lashes of each closed eye. He had been my almost, my might have been, and I did not want to leave him

Alice Sebold

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Alice Sebold
Age: 62
Born: 1962
Born: September 6
Novelist
Writer
Madison
Wisconsin
Almost
Eye
Might
Always
Love
Lashes
Counted
Closed
Leave

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When the dead are done with the living, the living can go on to other things, Franny said. What about the dead? I asked. Where do we go?
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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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Nothing is ever certain.
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Learn a language of another country and then you can go to that country: a place where the problems of your family will not follow. A language they do not speak.
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Because horror on Earth is real and it is every day. It is like a flower or like the sun it cannot be contained.
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If I shut my eyes, I believed, I would disappear. To make it through, I had to be present the whole time.
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So there are cakes and pillows and colors galore, but underneath this more obvious patchwork quilt are places like a quiet room where you can go and hold someone's hand and not have to say anything.
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You're not supposed to look back, you're supposed to keep going.
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I wish you all a long and happy life
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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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Life is a perpetual yesterday for us.
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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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My name is Salmon, like the fish first name, Susie. I was fourteen when I was murdered.
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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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I would like to tell you that I am, and you will one day be, forever safe.
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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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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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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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In this deeply nuanced portrait of an American family, Bret Anthony Johnston fearlessly explores the truth behind a mythic happy ending. In Remember Me Like This, Johnston presents an incisive dismantling of an all-too-comforting fallacy: that in being found we are no longer lost.
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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.
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