A Children's Bible Quotes

“It was them and not them, maybe the ones they’d never been. I could almost see those others standing in the garden where the pea plants were, feet planted between the rows. They stood without moving, their faces glowing with some shine a long time gone. A time before I lived. Their arms hung at their sides.

They’d always been there, I thought blearily, and they’d always wanted to be more than they were. They should always be thought of as invalids, I saw. Each person, fully grown, was sick or sad, with problems attached to them like broken limbs. Each one had special needs.

If you could remember that, it made you less angry.

They’d been carried along on their hopes, held up by the chance of a windfall. But instead of a windfall there was only time passing. And all they ever were was themselves.

Still they had wanted to be different. I would assume that from now on, I told myself, wandering back into the barn. What people wanted to be, but never could, traveled along beside them. Company.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“If you could be nothing, you could also be everything. Once my molecules had dispersed, I would be here forever. Free.

Part of the timeless. The sky and the ocean would also be me.

Molecules never die, I thought.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“Molecules never die, I thought. Hadn’t they told us that in chemistry? Hadn’t they said a molecule of Julius Caesar’s dying breath was, statistically speaking, in every breath we took? Same with Lincoln. Or our grandparents. Molecules exchanging and mingling, on and on. Particles that had once been others and now moved through us. “Evie!” said Jack. “Look! I found a sand dollar!” That was the sad thing about my molecules: they wouldn’t remember him.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“At that time in my personal life, I was coming to grips with the end of the world. The familiar world, anyway. Many of us were.

Scientists said it was ending now, philosophers said it had always been ending.

Historians said there’d been dark ages before. It all came out in the wash, because eventually, if you were patient, enlightenment arrived and then a wide array of Apple devices.

Politicians claimed everything would be fine. Adjustments were being made. Much as our human ingenuity had got us into this fine mess, so would it neatly get us out. Maybe more cars would switch to electric.

That was how we could tell it was serious. Because they were obviously lying.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“When we ran, if we chose to, we ran like flashes of silk. We had the vigor of those freshly born. Relatively speaking. And no, we wouldn’t be like this forever. We knew it, on a rational level. But the idea that those garbage-like figures that tottered around the great house were a vision of what lay in store—hell no. Had they had goals once? A simple sense of self-respect? They shamed us. They were a cautionary tale.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“So when they bent their elegant necks to nibble the grass, some of us shouted taunts. Sprinted toward them, flailing. Some of us enjoyed seeing them panic. They’d bolt in a high-kicking flight toward the trees, frightened by our power. Some of us cheered as the deer fled. Not me. I kept silent. I was sorry for them. The ticks weren’t their fault. To a deer, people were probably monsters. Certain people, anyway. At times, when a deer saw a man walking in the forest, he might prick up his ears and stand still as a statue. Waiting. Wary. Meaning no harm. What are you? asked his ears. And oh. What am I? Sometimes the answer was, You’re dead. And the deer crumpled to his knees.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“Do you blame us?” asked a mother. Pathetic-sounding.

“We blame you for everything,” Jen said evenly.

“Who else is there to blame?” added Rafe.

“I don’t blame you,” said Sukey. The baby squawked, and she jiggled it.

The mother looked at her gratefully.

“You were just stupid,” said Sukey. “And lazy.”

Not so grateful.

“You gave up the world,” said David.

“You let them turn it all to shit,” said Low.

I almost forgot the taste of old banana, then.

“I hate to disappoint you, but we don’t have that much power,” said a father.

“Yeah. And that’s what they all said,” said Jen.

“Listen. We know we let you down,” said a mother. “But what could we have done, really?”

“Fight,” said Rafe. “Did you ever fight?”

“Or did you just do exactly what you wanted?” said Jen. “Always?”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“One dog got makeup applied to its face, lipstick and blue eye shadow. It was a white-faced dog, so the makeup showed up well. We liked to have an impact. When we were done, the lipstick went back into some mother's Fendi handbag. We watched her apply it, unaware. That was satisfying.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“At times, when a deer saw a man walking in the forest, he might prick up his ears and stand still as a statue. Waiting. Wary. Meaning no harm.
What are you? asked his ears. And oh. What am I?
Sometimes the answer was, You're dead.
And the deer crumpled to his knees.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“Once we lived in a summer country.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“Are there, like, cows on that farm?” asked Rafe. “They depress me. Doomed. Zero exceptions. It’s either a bolt shot through your head when you’re two or they let you live till you’re five. Make you a breeder and kidnap all your babies. Suck out the milk that was meant for them. And after that you die.” “I didn’t realize you were vegan,” said Sukey, slightly sneering. “Whose barn is it?” asked Dee. “Rich lady’s,” said Burl. “She’s a hobby farmer. I do maintenance for her. Not there now. Lives in TriBeCa.” The map app gave us a clear path when Burl entered the address—not that the app could be trusted. It also wanted us to levitate across the sparking power line.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“HIDING OUR PARENTAGE was a leisure pursuit, but one we took seriously. Sometimes a parent would edge near, threatening to expose us. Risking the revelation of a family bond. Then we ran like rabbits. We had to hide the running, though, in case our haste betrayed us, so truer to say we slipped out quietly. When one of my parents appeared, my technique was: pretend to catch sight of someone in the next room. Move in a natural manner toward this figment of my imagination, making a purposeful face. Go through the door. And fade away.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“They liked to drink: it was their hobby, or—said one of us—maybe a form of worship. They drank wine and beer and whiskey and gin. Also tequila, rum, and vodka. At midday they called it the hair of the dog. It seemed to keep them contented. Or going, at least. In the evenings they assembled to eat food and drink more. Dinner was the only meal we had to attend, and even that we resented. They sat us down and talked about nothing. They aimed their conversation like a dull gray beam. It hit us and lulled us into a stupor. What they said was so boring it filled us with frustration, and after more minutes, rage. Didn’t they know there were urgent subjects? Questions that needed to be asked? If one of us said something serious, they dismissed it. MayIpleasebeexcused. Later the talk grew louder. Freed of our influence, some of them emitted sudden, harsh barks.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“We put the dogs in a play and invited the parents, since there was no one else to be an audience. But the pets were poorly trained and failed to take direction. There were two soldiers and a fancy lady we’d dressed in a frilly padded bra. The soldiers were cowards. Deserters, basically. They ran away when we issued the battle cry. (A blaring klaxon. It went hoh-onk.) The lady urinated. “Oh, poor old thing, she has a nervous bladder!” exclaimed someone’s chubby mother. “Is that a Persian rug?” Whose mother was it? Unclear. No one would cop to it, of course. We canceled the performance. “Admit it, that was your mother,” said a kid named Rafe to a kid named Sukey, when the parents had filed out. Some of their goblets, highball glasses, and beer bottles were completely empty. Drained. Those parents were in a hurry, then. “No way,” said Sukey firmly, and shook her head. “Then who is your mother? The one with the big ass? Or the one with the clubfoot?” “Neither,” said Sukey. “So fuck you.” THE GREAT HOUSE had been built by robber barons in the nineteenth century, a palatial retreat for the green months. Our parents, those so-called figures of authority, roamed its rooms in vague circuits beneath the broad beams, their objectives murky. And of no general interest.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“A FEW PETS had come with us for the summer: three dogs and a cat, a pissed-off Siamese with a skin condition. Dandruff. We dressed up the dogs in costumes from a wicker chest, but could not dress the cat. She scratched.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“In movies, makeovers were treated like a triumph of the human spirit.

It suggested we'd had a low bar for triumph, in recent history. A dash of lipstick qualified, a haircut and some styling gel. A new outfit.

That was what the human spirit had turned into.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“I felt an itch and thought, Is there a tick crawling on me? Right this minute? Burrowing into my skin?

And then I thought, Wait. Forget the tick. Why are we always complaining? We get to be alive.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“They stood without moving, their faces glowing with some shine a long time gone. A time before I lived. Their arms hung at their sides. They’d always been there, I thought blearily, and they’d always wanted to be more than they were. They should always be thought of as invalids, I saw. Each person, fully grown, was sick or sad, with problems attached to them like broken limbs. Each one had special needs. If you could remember that, it made you less angry. They’d been carried along on their hopes, held up by the chance of a windfall. But instead of a windfall there was only time passing. And all they ever were was themselves. Still they had wanted to be different. I would assume that from now on, I told myself, wandering back into the barn. What people wanted to be, but never could, traveled along beside them. Company”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“At times, when a deer saw a man walking in a forest, he might prick his ears up and stand still as a statue. Waiting. Wary. Meaning no harm.
What are you? asked his ears. And oh. What am I?
Sometimes the answer was, You're dead.
And the deer crumpled to his knees.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“The nuclear threat. So quaint.”
“It’s like, if only. Right?”
“The climate deal makes nukes look kind of sweet. Like being scared of cannons.”
“Slingshots.”
“A Hyksos recurve bow.”
“Canaanite sickle-swords.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“There’s that common expression that goes: Don’t bring a knife to a gunfight.

But a knife is better than nothing.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“It made me think of how thin the border was between attractive and not, and yet, if it was there, you didn’t want to cross it.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“The parents insisted on denial as a tactic. Not science denial exactly - they were liberals. It was more a denial of reality. A few had sent us to survival camps, where the fortunate learned to tie knots. Troubleshoot engines, even sterilize stagnant water without chemical filters. But most of them had a simple attitude: business as usual.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“I thought: Enh, they’ll get used to it. Children grow up. Children leave.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“AT THAT TIME in my personal life, I was coming to grips with the end of the world. The familiar world, anyway. Many of us were. Scientists said it was ending now, philosophers said it had always been ending. Historians said there’d been dark ages before. It all came out in the wash, because eventually, if you were patient, enlightenment arrived and then a wide array of Apple devices.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“The future flew past in a flash of grim. The clock was ticking, and I didn't like that clock.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“I SLEPT LATE the next morning because I’d woken up every time Jack tossed or turned, worried I’d given him nightmares. When I got up, the Cobra had weighed anchor. As far as I could see, there was the flatness of the ocean”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“There were two faces pressed cheek to cheek and looking at the camera: an overly tanned older man, grimacing and shiny, and the trophy wife. They were holding up champagne flutes in hands loaded down with bling. #ilovemyshipwreckedparents. “Hashtag asskiss,” said Rafe. “Parents? She’s not even his mother!” said Sukey. “Unless she had him when she was three,” said Jen. I quit the app.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“It turned out Juicy’s place took the prize: a mansion in Westchester County. He’d once muttered “north of Harlem”—probably trying to maintain his street cred. Which was imaginary. He lived in a ten-bedroom house in Rye.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible

“Come on,” said Dee. “We’re going to do what some homeless guy says?” “Not homeless,” said Burl. “Groundskeeper. Live in a shack. Heated.” “You’re the yardman?” said Sukey. “The one who drove Alycia to live with the statutory rapist?” asked Jen. Burl’s jaw dropped. He shook his head. “She said she needed asthma medicine!” “There are plagues in my book,” said Jack. “Eve. Tell your baby brother,” said Sukey, and crushed a beer can underfoot. “The only people who take the Bible literally are Alabama inbreds. And wife-beaters in Tennessee.” “Your family’s not even Christian, Jack,” said Jen. “Eve told me. And your storybook’s not a user’s manual.”
― Lydia Millet, A Children's Bible