That night my mother had what she considered a wonderful dream. She dreamed of the country of India, where she had never been. There were orange traffic cones and beautiful lapis lazuli insects with mandibles of gold. A young girl was being led through the streets. She was taken to a pyre where she was wound in a sheet and placed up on a platform built from sticks. The bright fire that consumed her brought my mother into that deep, light, dreamlike bliss. The girl was being burned alive, but, first, there had been her body, clean and whole.
Alice SeboldStichwörter: dreams dream sacrifice fire india pyre burn burnedalive funeralpyre
The living room seemed to be where no living ever actually occurred.
Alice SeboldStichwörter: living-room
They would go back to their homes and put me to rest, a letter from the past never reopened or reread.
Alice SeboldHer brain was a storm, her usual insight gone.
Alice SeboldI loved the way the burned-out flashcubes of the Kodak Instamatic marked a moment that had passed, one that would now be gone forever except for a picture. When they were spent, I took the cubed four-corner flashbulbs and passed them from hand to hand until they cooled. The broken filaments of the flash would turn a molten marble blue or sometimes smoke the thin glass black. I had rescued the moment by using my camera and in that way had found a way to stop time and hold it. No one could take that image away from me because I owned it.
Alice SeboldIf I was aware I would have to tie laces I would not have been able to put my feet into socks.
Alice SeboldHow could it be that you could love someone so much and keep it a secret from yourself as you woke daily so far from home? She had put billboards and roads between them, throwing roadblocks behind her and ripping off the rearview mirror, and thought that would make him disappear?
Alice SeboldStichwörter: lovely-bones
...memory could save, that it had power, that it was often the only recourse of the powerless, the oppressed, or the brutalized.
Alice SeboldShe listened for the pain in my words, not to the narrative itself. She was intuiting what it meant to me, what was most important, what, in that confused mass of experience and yearning she heard in my voice, she could single out to give back.
Alice SeboldStichwörter: therapy
I was unable to recognize something that I would come up against time and time again. You could not be filled with hate and be beautiful. Like any girl, I wanted to be beautiful. But I was filled with hate. So how could I be both..?
Alice Sebold« erste vorherige
Seite 22 von 26.
nächste letzte »
Data privacy
Imprint
Contact
Diese Website verwendet Cookies, um Ihnen die bestmögliche Funktionalität bieten zu können.