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I considered her my ally, because, like me, she was imperfect.

Barbara Kingsolver

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Barbara Kingsolver
Age: 69
Born: 1955
Born: April 8
Essayist
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Annapolis
Maryland
Ally
Allies
Imperfect
Considered
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More quotes by Barbara Kingsolver

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The most important thing about a person is always the thing you don't know.
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Come to think of it, just about every tool was shaped like either a weenie or a pistol, depending on your point of view.
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Even feigning surprise, pretending it was unexpected and saying a ritual thanks, is surely wiser than just expecting everything so carelessly.
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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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...nothing momentous comes in this world unless it comes on the shoulders of kindness.
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Fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly, writers will go to stupefying lengths to get the infernal roar of words out of their skulls and onto paper.
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You know reviewers, they are the wind in their own sails.
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There is a strange moment in time, after something horrible happens, when you know it's true, but you haven't told anyone yet.
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People's dreams are made out of what they do all day. The same way a dog that runs after rabbits will dream of rabbits. It's what you do that makes your soul, not the other way around.
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Everything truly important is washable.
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Listen. To live is to be marked. To live is to change, to acquire the words of a story, and that is the only celebration we mortals really know. In perfect stillness, frankly, I've only found sorrow.
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Few people know so clearly what they want. Most people can't even think what to hope for when they throw a penny in a fountain.
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Forgive me, O Heavenly Father, according to the multitude of Thy mercies. I have lusted in my heart to break a man's skull and scatter the stench of his brains across several people's back yards.
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What keeps you going isn't some fine destination but just the road you're on, and the fact that you know how to drive.
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A choir of seedlings arching their necks out of rotted tree stumps, sucking life out of death. I am the forest's conscience, but remember, the forest eats itself and lives forever.
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What we end up calling history is a kind of knife, slicing down through time. A few people are hard enough to bend its edge. But most won't even stand close to the blade. I'm one of those. We don't bend anything.
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Let me claim that Africa and I kept company for a while and then parted ways as if we were both party to relations with a failed outcome. Or say I was afflicted with Africa like a bout of a rare disease from which I have not managed a full recovery.
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I concentrate on character, theme, language, structure, voice. It actually surprises me that no matter what I write, people declare it intently political. I'm just writing about the world I know, as it is. Wounds and griefs included.
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Food is the rare moral arena in which the ethical choice is generally the one more likely to make you groan with pleasure.
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When moral superiority combines with billowing ignorance, they fill up a hot-air balloon that's awfully hard not to poke.
Barbara Kingsolver