There are some who'd hardly lift a finger for kindness, but they would haul up a load of rock to dump on some soul they think's been too lucky.

Barbara Kingsolver

Barbara Kingsolver

Profession: Novelist
Nationality: American

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I attempted briefly to consecrate myself in the public library, believing every crack in my soul could be chinked with a book.

As a biologist, I can't think of myself as anything but an animal among animals and plant.

Having children was not like people said. Forget training them in your footsteps; the minute they put down the teething ring and found the Internet, you were useless as a source of anything but shoes and a winter coat.

Now I'm starting to think he wasn't supposed to be my whole life, he was just this doorway to me.

The very least you can do in your life is figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance but live right in it, under its roof.

My life is a pitiful, mechanical thing without a past, like a little wind-up car, ready to run in any direction someone points me.

My father wears his faith like the bronze breastplate of God's footsoldiers while our mother's is more like a good cloth coat with a secondhand fit.

You can't just sashay into the jungle aiming to change it all over to the Christian style, without expecting the jungle to change you right back.

Hope is a renewable option: If you run out of it at the end of the day, you get to start over in the morning.

Many of us who aren't farmers or gardeners still have some element of farm nostalgia in our family past, real or imagined: a secret longing for some connection to a life where a rooster crows in the yard.

And all of us with our closed eyes smelled the frangipani blossoms in the big rectangles of open wall, flowers so sweet they conjure up sin or heaven, depending on which way you are headed.

Alice hands Annawake a handkerchief. Young people never carry them, she's noticed. They haven't yet learned that heartbreak can catch up to you on any given day.

My future was mapped in negatives. Next year, I could be anywhere but here.

What could a doormat rear but a pair of boots?