Barbara Kingsolver, a writer praised for her"extravagantly gifted narrative voice" ( New York Times Book Review ), has created with this novel a hymn to wildness that celebrates the prodigal spirit of human nature, and of nature itself. Prodigal Summer weaves together three stories of human... read more
“Of course not, you're a man! Men walk around with their bald heads bare to the world and their pony put out to pasture, but they refuse to admit they're dead wood. So why should I? What law says I have to cover myself up for shame of having a body this old? It's a dirty trick of modern times, but here we are. Me with my cranky knees and my old shriveled ninnies, and you with whatever you've got under there, if it hasn't dropped off yet -- we're still human. Why not just give in and live till you die?”Nannie Rawlings as said to Garnet Walker when he complained about her wearing shorts
She needed to listen to this: 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.Highlighted by 64 Kindle customers
How pointless life could be, what a foolish business of inventing things to love, just so you could dread losing them.Highlighted by 53 Kindle customers
Solitude is a human presumption. Every quiet step is thunder to beetle life underfoot, a tug of impalpable thread on the web pulling mate to mate and predator to prey, a beginning or an end. Every choice is a world made new for the chosen.Highlighted by 52 Kindle customers
I’ve always found people love you best if you can laugh at your own foolish misfortunes and keep mum about everyone else’s.Highlighted by 50 Kindle customers
but she’d never forgotten, either, how a mystery caught in the hand could lose its grace.Highlighted by 45 Kindle customers
Arguments could fill a marriage like water, running through everything, always, with no taste or color but lots of noise.Highlighted by 43 Kindle customers
“I lost a child,” she said, meeting Lusa’s eyes directly. “I thought I wouldn’t live through it. But you do. You learn to love the place somebody leaves behind for you.”Highlighted by 29 Kindle customers
Thanks for this day, for all birds safe in their nests, for whatever this is, for life.Highlighted by 27 Kindle customers
The pounding of What do I want went still in her breast. It didn’t matter what she chose. The world was what it was, a place with its own rules of hunger and satisfaction. Creatures lived and mated and died, they came and went, as surely as summer did. They would go their own ways, of their own accord.Highlighted by 26 Kindle customers
Envying, even, their self-important fuss and bustle. A bird never doubts its place at the center of the universe.Highlighted by 23 Kindle customers
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