She wasn't much of a talker when there was nothing to say.
Alice SeboldEvery day a question mark.
Alice SeboldRuth had been a girl haunted and now she would be a woman haunted. First by accident and now by choice. All of it, the story of my life and death, was hers if she chose to tell it, even to one person at a time.
Alice SeboldYou don't notice the dead leaving when they really hoose to leave you. You're not meant to. At most you feel them as a whisper or the wave of a whisper undulating down.
Alice SeboldStichwörter: dead-in-the-family
I had been kissed once by someone I liked. His name was Ray and he was Indian. He had an accent and was dark. I wasn't supposed to like him. Clarissa called his large eyes, with their half closed lids, "freak-a-delic," but he was nice and smart and helped me cheat on my algebra exam while pretending he hadn't. He kissed me by my locker the day before we turned in our photos for the yearbook. When the yearbook came out at the end of the summer, I saw that under his picture he had answered the standard "My heart belongs to" with "Susie Salmon." I guess he had had plans. I remember his lips were chapped.
Alice SeboldBut 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.
Alice SeboldI was like I was in science class: I was curious.
Alice SeboldStichwörter: science curiosity
The events that my death wrought were merely the bones of a body that would become whole at some unpredictable time in the future. The price of what I came to see as this miraculous body had been my life.
Alice SeboldShe had a stare that stretched to infinity. She was, in that moment, not my mother but something separate from me.
Alice SeboldDentro la palla di neve sulla scrivania di mio padre c'era un pinguino con una sciarpa a righe bianche e rosse. Quando ero piccola papà mi metteva seduta sulle sue ginocchia e prendeva in mano la palla di neve. La capovolgeva perché la neve si raccogliesse tutta in cima, poi con un colpo secco la ribaltava. E insieme guardavamo la neve che fioccava leggera intorno al pinguino. Il pinguino è tutto solo, pensavo, e mi angustiavo per lui. Lo dicevo a papà e lui mi rispondeva: "Non ti preoccupare, Susie, sta da re. È prigioniero di un mondo perfetto".
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