Alice Sebold
Alice Sebold
Alice Seboldis an American writer. She has published three books: Lucky, The Lovely Bones, and The Almost Moon...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionMemoirist
Date of Birth6 September 1963
CityMadison, WI
CountryUnited States of America
mean telling-the-truth should
Since then I've always thought that under rape in the dictionary it should tell the truth. It is not just forcible intercourse; rape means to inhabit and destroy everything.
life bullshit heaven
There wasn't a lot of bullshit in my heaven.
fighting fool thousand
Those who say they would rather fight to the death than be raped are fools. I would rather be raped a thousand times. You do what you have to.
mean lovely rays
What did dead mean, Ray wondered. It meant lost, it meant frozen, it meant gone.
dad mean my-dad
Well, as my dad would say, it means she’s out of this shithole.
goes-on done bones
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?
beautiful running years
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.
brother father school
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.
beautiful kissing rainbow
Our only kiss was like an accident- a beautiful gasoline rainbow.
real forgiving pieces
I forgive you," I said. I said what I had to. I would die by pieces to save myself from real death.
mother dog brother
I tried to take solace in Holiday, our dog. I missed him in a way I hadn't yet let myself miss my mother and father, my sister and brother. That way of missing would mean that I had accepted that I would never be with them again; it might sound silly but I didn't believe it, would not believe it.
blood doors red
Murder had a blood red door on the other side of which was everything unimaginable to everyone.
girl goodbye children
I knew something as I watched: almost everyone was saying goodbye to me. I was becoming one of the many little-girl-losts. They would go back to their homes and put me to rest, a letter from the past never to be reopened or reread. And I could say goodbye to them, wish them well, bless them somehow for their good thoughts. A handshake in the street, a dropped item picked up and retrieved and handed back, or a friendly wave from the distant window, a nod, a smile, a moment when the eyes lock over the antics of a child.
grief parent trying
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.