The Bean Trees

by Barbara Kingsolver

had decided early on that if I couldn’t dress elegant, I’d dress memorable.

I never could figure out why men thought they could impress a woman by making the world out to be such a big dangerous deal. I mean, we’ve got to live in the exact same world every damn day of the week, don’t we?

Parts are included for all installations, but no installation requires all of the parts.’

You never could tell about Mattie’s version of the Lord. Mainly, He was just one damn thing after another.

“She’s got a mean streak in her,” I told him. “If you’re unlucky enough to get ahold of a dog like that, you give it away to somebody with a big farm. I don’t know what you do about a neighbor.”

I’d forgotten how trees full of bird sounds made you sense the world differently: that life didn’t just stop at eye level.

But it’s also true that some people never have anybody to lose, and I think that’s got to be so much worse.”

There is no point in treating a depressed person as though she were just feeling sad, saying, There now, hang on, you’ll get over it. Sadness is more or less like a head cold—with patience, it passes. Depression is like cancer.

A human being can be good or bad or right or wrong, maybe. But how can you say a person is illegal?”

“But nothing on this earth’s guaranteed, when you get right down to it, you know? I’ve been thinking about that. About how your kids aren’t really yours, they’re just these people that you try to keep an eye on, and hope you’ll all grow up someday to like each other and still be in one piece. What I mean is, everything you ever get is really just on loan. Does that make sense?”