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Quote by Alice Sebold

Work

The Lovely Bones: Picador Classic

Alice Sebold's 'The Lovely Bones' is a haunting and beautifully written novel that delves into the complexities of grief and the search for justice. The story is narrated by Susie Salmon, a young girl who is killed and watches over her family and the investigation into her murder from the afterlife. The novel is a poignant exploration of loss, memory, and the resilience of the human spirit. more

Author

Alice Sebold
Alice Sebold

Alice Sebold is an American author born on September 6, 1963. Her works are known for their profound psychological descriptions and unique narrative style, with notable titles including 'The Lovely Bones' and 'Black Swan'. She explores themes of humanity, memory, and redemption in her writing. more

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“Everyday he got up. Before sleep wore off, he was who he used to be. Then, as his consciousness woke, it was as if poison seeped in. At first he couldn't even get up. He lay there under a heavy weight. But then only movment could save him, and he moved and he moved and he moved, no movement being enough to make up for it. The guilt on him, the hand of God pressing down on him, saying, You were not there when your daughter needed you.”

“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.”

“I want to see you. Know your voice. Recognize you when you first come 'round the corner. Sense your scent when I come into a room you've just left. Know the lift of your heel, the glide of your foot. Become familiar with the way you purse your lips then let them part, just the slightest bit, when I lean in to your space and kiss you. I want to know the joy of how you whisper "more”

“So we'll just let things take their course, and never be sorry.”

“Literature cannot develop between the categories "permitted"—"not permitted"—"this you can and that you can't." Literature that is not the air of its contemporary society, that dares not warn in time against threatening moral and social dangers, such literature does not deserve the name of literature; it is only a facade. Such literature loses the confidence of its own people, and its published works are used as waste paper instead of being read. -Letter to the Fourth National Congress of Soviet Writers”