…nothing momentous comes in this world unless it comes on the shoulders of kindness.
BARBARA KINGSOLVERA flower is a plant’s way of making love.
More Barbara Kingsolver Quotes
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Nothing to do with nature, unless you count human nature.
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We agreed with him in principal – we were little scientists, born and bred. But children robbed of love will dwell on magic.
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You think you’re the foreigner here, and I’m the American, and I just look the other way while the President or somebody sends down this and that . . . to torture people with. But nobody asked my permission, okay? Sometimes I feel like I’m a foreigner, too.
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You don’t think you’ll live past it and you don’t really. The person you were is gone. But the half of you that’s still alive wakes up one day and takes over again.
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It’s one thing to carry your life wherever you go. Another thing to always go looking for it somewhere else.
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I know I’m a rare person, a trained scientist who writes fiction, because so few contemporary novelists engage with science.
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Sugar, it’s no parade but you’ll get down the street one way or another, so you’d just as well throw your shoulders back and pick up the pace.
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Every life is different because you passed this way and touched history.
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Of the two hundred bones in the human body, more than a quarter are in the foot. It is a more complicated instrument than an automobile transmission, and it is treated with far less consideration.
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The moth settled onto the curtain and sat still. It was an astonishing creature, with black and white wings patterned in geometric shapes, scarlet underwings, and a fat white body with black spots running down it like a snowman’s coal buttons.
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The substance of grief is not imaginary. It’s as real as rope or the absence of air, and like both those things, it can kill.
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You can’t replace people you love with other people…But you can trust that you’re not going to run out of people to love.
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Mr. Shepherd, ye cannot stop a bad thought from coming into your head. But ye need not pull up a chair and bide it sit down.” – Mrs. Brown
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…prodigal summer, the season of extravagant procreation. It could wear out everything in its path with its passionate excesses, but nothing alive with wings or a heart or a seed curled into itself in the ground could resist welcoming it back when it came.
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Some of us know how we came by our fortune and some of us don’t; but we wear it all the same
BARBARA KINGSOLVER