Parable of the Talents (Earthseed, #2)

by Octavia E. Butler

When I was in high school, I read the 1741 Jonathan Edwards sermon, “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God.” Its first few words sum up the kinds of lessons so many children were forced to learn in the world outside Acorn. Edwards said, “The God that holds you over the pit of hell, much as one holds a spider, or some loathsome insect over the fire, abhors you, and is dreadfully provoked; his wrath towards you burns like fire; he looks upon you as worthy of nothing else, but to be cast into the fire.”

At war Or at peace, More people die Of unenlightened self-interest Than of any other disease.

Prodigy is, in its essence, adaptability and persistent, positive obsession. Without persistence, what remains is an enthusiasm of the moment. Without adaptability, what remains may be channeled into destructive fanaticism. Without positive obsession, there is nothing at all.

From the hills, for a time, we watched. Most of us had seen our homes burn before, but we had not been the ones to set the fires. This time, though, it’s too late for fire to be the destroyer that we remembered. The things that we had created and loved had already been destroyed. This time, the fires only cleansed.

All prayers are to Self And, in one way or another, All prayers are answered. Pray, But beware. Your desires, Whether or not you achieve them Will determine who you become.

There was no love in the Alexander house. There was only the habit of being together, and, I suppose, the fear of even greater loneliness.

Len had been right about what I should be doing, although she had known no more than I about how it must be done. I still don’t know enough. But there’s no manual for this kind of thing. I suppose that I’ll be learning what to do and how to do it until the day I die.

I will go with the first ship to leave after my death. If I thought I could survive as something other than a burden, I would go on this one, alive. No matter. Let them someday use my ashes to fertilize their crops. Let them do that. It’s arranged. I’ll go, and they’ll give me to their orchards and their groves.