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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
Leave
Almost
Eye
Might
Always
Love
Lashes
Counted
Closed

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I left my mark on that man.
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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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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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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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As if in the other side of his kiss there could ve a new life
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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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I watched my brother and my father. The truth was very different from what we learned in school. The truth was the line between the living and the dead could be, it seemed, murky and blurred.
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One thing about failing repeatedly: If you're still doing it after you've failed that much, you really mean it.
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Last night it had been my father who had finally said it: She’s never coming home. A clear and easy piece of truth that everyone who had ever known me had accepted. But he needed to say it, and she needed to hear him say it.
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But I know I would not go out. I had taken this time to fall in love instead — in love with the sort of helplessness I had not felt in death — the helplessness of being alive, the dark bright pity of being human — feeling as you went, groping in corners and opening your arms to light - all of it part of navigating the unknown.
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I dont think ignorance is a way that you gain distance on something.
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Who would have thought something that happened that long ago could have such power?
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Our only kiss was like an accident- a beautiful gasoline rainbow.
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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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He was beginning to understand: You were treated special and, later, something horrible would be told to you.
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The damage can fester under layers of time and change, and an ignorant, thoughtless remark can easily reopen the wound.
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Between a man and a woman there was always one person who was stronger than the other one. That doesn’t mean the weaker one doesn’t love the stronger.
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Part of the creative process for me is an invitation for readers to follow their imagination.
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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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I wanted to be the moron of the family, because morons seemed to have more fun, more freedom and more personality.
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