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My father had not been outside the house except to drive back and forth to work or sit out in the backyard, for months, nor had he seen his neighbors. now he looked at them, from face to face, until he realized i had been loved by people he didn't even recognize. his heart filled up, warm again as it had not been in what seemed so long to him- save small forgotten moments with buckley, the accidents of love that happened with his son. ~pgs 209-210; buckley, lindsey and jack on susie
-Alice Sebold
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My Father Had Not Been Outside The

Alice Sebold
My father had not been outside the house except to drive back and forth to work or sit out in the backyard, for months, nor had he seen his neighbors. now he looked at them, from face to face, until he realized i had been loved by people he didn't even recognize. his heart filled up, warm again as it had not been in what seemed so long to him- save small forgotten moments with buckley, the accidents of love that happened with his son. ~pgs 209-210; buckley, lindsey and jack on susie
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Father Heart Son

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Nay, but jack, such eyes! such eyes! so innocently wild! so bashfully irresolute! not a glance but speaks and kindles some thought of love! then, jack, her cheeks! her cheeks, jack! so deeply blushing at the insinuations of her tell-tale eyes! then, jack, her lips! o, jack, lips smiling at their own discretion! and, if not smiling, more sweetly pouting - more lovely in sullenness! then, jack, her neck! o, jack, jack!
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My life is routine. i wake up early in the morning. i brush my teeth. i sit on the floor of the cell i do not go to breakfast. i stare at a gray cement wall. i keep my legs crossed my back straight my eyes forward. i take deep breaths in and out, in and out, and i try not to move. i sit for as long as i can i sit until everything hurts i sit until everything stops hurting i sit until i lose myself in the gray wall i sit until my mind becomes as blank as the gray wall. i sit and i stare and i breathe. i sit and i stare. i breathe.
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Mr. buckley, let me explain it this way. and i'll do so very carefully & slowly so that even you will understand it. if i was the sheriff, i would not have arrested him. if i was on the grand jury, i would not have indicted him. if i was the judge, i would not try him. if i was the d.a., i would not prosecute him. if i was on the trial jury, i would vote to give him a key to the city, a plaque to hang on his wall, & i would send him home to his family. and, mr. buckley, if my daughter is ever raped, i hope i have the guts to do what he did.
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My grandmother stepped back into the kitchen to get their drinks. i had come to love her more after death than i ever had on earth. i wish i could say that in that moment in the kitchen she decided to quit drinking, but i now saw that drinking was a part of what made her who she was. if the worst of what she left on earth was a legacy of inebriated support, it was a good legacy in my book. ~susie's grandmother, lynn pgs 315-316
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I do not aim with my hand; he who aims with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. i aim with my eye. i do not shoot with my hand; he who shoots with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. i shoot with my mind. i do not kill with my gun; he who kills with his gun has forgotten the face of his father. i kill with my heart.
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