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
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?
book done stuff
I don't do much public speaking. I did a lot of stuff for Bones, and then ended up having said yes to a lot of things that kept me on the road for a while for that, but then I pretty much stopped. I'm touring for this book, but when the tour is done, that'll be the end of it.
together done pages
Depending on where I am in the process, sometimes I have a page count and sometimes I don't. Sometimes I have an hour count; sometimes I'm just happy to string a few words together. I do keep pretty rigorous hours, because otherwise you never get anything done.
joys understanding
To me, the idea of heaven would give you certain pleasures, certain joys - but it's very important to have an intellectual understanding of why you want those things.
comics mostly
I went to church irregularly and was mostly reading comics in the pew.
dynamic hard relationship work
We all work hard to understand the dynamic relationship we have with a parent.
men mark left
I left my mark on that man.
mother ocean eye
His love for my mother wasn't about looking back and loving something that would never change. It was about loving my mother for everything -- for her brokenness and her fleeing, for her being there right then in that moment before the sun rose and the hospital staff came in. It was about touching that hair with the side of his fingertip, and knowing yet plumbing fearlessly the depths of her ocean eyes.
lying hands two
I live in a world where two truths coexist: where both hell and hope lie in the palm of my hand
spiritual crap
In my 20s, I railed against anything 'spiritual', I thought it was all crap,
sex wall blood
At fourteen, my sister sailed away from me into a place I’d never been. In the walls of my sex there was horror and blood, in the walls of hers there were windows.
coffee dark people
The stains could be seen only in the sunlight, so Ruth was never really aware of them until later, when she would stop at an outdoor cafe for a cup of coffee, and look down at her skirt and see the dark traces of spilled vodka or whiskey. The alcohol had the effect of making the black cloth blacker. This amused her; she had noted in her journal: 'booze affects material as it does people'.
oil bags stains
As she brought prospective buyers through, the realtor said it was an oil stain, but it was me, seeping out of the bag.
father ocean eye
Hey, Ocean Eyes,” my father said. “Where’d you go on us?