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Oh, that river of wishes, the slippery crocodile dream of it, how it might have carried my body down through all the glittering sand bars to the sea.

Barbara Kingsolver

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Barbara Kingsolver
Age: 69
Born: 1955
Born: April 8
Essayist
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Annapolis
Maryland
Might
Sand
River
Bars
Crocodile
Rivers
Crocodiles
Sea
Glittering
Wish
Slippery
Dream
Wishes
Body
Carried

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A breeze shook rain out of new leaves onto their hair, but in their pursuit of eternity they never noticed the chill.
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Tomorrow these villagers would carry their secret icons into the church without any priest and light the candles themselves, moving together in single-minded grace. Like the school of the fish, so driven to righteousness they could flout the law, declare the safety of their souls, then go home and destroy the evidence.
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I know people. Most have no earthly notion of the price of a snow-white conscience.
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I don't look like who I am.
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The march of human progress seemed mainly a matter of getting over that initial shock of being here.
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Thanks for this day, for all birds safe in their nests, for whatever this is, for life.
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I write every moment that is humanly possible. I write every day and every night. The only discipline I lack is the discipline is to quit.
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Memory runs along deep, fixed channels in the brain, like electricity along its conduits only a cataclysm can make the electrons rear up in shock and slide over into another channel. The human mind seems doomed to believe, as simply as a rooster believes, that where we are now is the only possibility
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I believe with all my heart in delivering on my contract with my readers. They've got plenty of other things to do, so I had better give them a reason to turn every one of these 550 pages. This is my promise: I solemnly swear I'll make you laugh out loud at least once, cry a little in private, and burn whatever you left on the stove.
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In a world as wrong as this one, all we can do is make things as right as we can.
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Independence is a complex word in a foreign tongue. To resist occupation, whether you're a nation or merely a woman, you must understand the language of your enemy. Conquest and liberation and democrac and divorce are words that mean squat, basically, when you have hungry children and clothes to get out on the line and it looks like rain.
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Sometimes the strength of motherhood is greater than natural laws.
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But kids don't stay with you if you do it right. It's the one job where, the better you are, the more surely you won't be needed in the long run.
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Fiction is a sort of inter-human magic, allowing you to travel into a scene and feel it tingle on your skin.
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I don't bring expectations to any of my books. I don't tell people what to do. I want to invite them in.
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My worst nightmare is being stuck somewhere with nothing to read.
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This story about good food begins in a quick-stop convenience market.
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you can't really know the person standing before you, because always there is some missing piece
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Be careful what you give children, for sooner or later you are sure to get it back.
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People love to read about sins and errors, but not their own.
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