Quotes from Octavia E. Butler

I constructed you to look very male—so male that the females would be attracted to you and help convince you that you were male.

The room was beginning to darken and spin.

We walk the highways and scrounge and scavenge and ask for work, and all of that reminds people that what's happened to us can happen to them. They don't like to think about stuff like that, so they get mad at us. They make the cops arrest us or run us out of town.

Any kind of survival information from encyclopedias, biographies, anything that helps you learn to live off the land and defend ourselves. Even some fiction might be useful.

It's scary, but once you get past the fear, it's easy.

I don't trust it. Freedom is dangerous, Cory, but it's precious, too. You can't just throw it away or let it slip away. You can't sell it for bread and pottage.

You're healthy," it said. "Your development is exactly right. I can't find any flaw in you." And

I wonder what you have to do to become a cop. I wonder what a badge is, other than a license to steal.

Our adults haven't been wiped out by a plague so they're still anchored in the past, waiting for the good old days to come back. But things have changed a lot, and they'll change more. Things are always changing. This is just one of the big jumps instead of the little step-by-step changes that are easier to take. People have changed the climate of the world. Now they're waiting for the old days to come back.

Prayers only help the person doing the praying.

In an interview Butler has stated that the meaning of the amputation is clear enough: "I couldn't really let her come all the way back. I couldn't let her return to what she was, I couldn't let her come back whole and that, I think, really symbolizes her not coming back whole. Antebellum slavery didn't leave people quite whole.

Nehemiah, chapter four, Verse 14: "And I looked and rose up and said unto the nobles, and to the rulers, and to the rest of the people, be not afraid of them: remember the Lord which is great and terrible, and fight for your brethren, your sons, and your daughters, your wives and your houses." Interesting. Interesting that Dad had that verse ready, and that Cory recognized it. Maybe they've had this conversation before.

Hell, I think a lot of things. And I know—I know!—that no matter how many things I think of, they won't be enough. Every time I go outside, I try to imagine what it might be like to live out there without walls, and I realize I don't know anything.

Dio è potere... Infinito Irresistibile, Inesorabile, Indifferente, Ma Dio è anche flessibile... Ingannatore, Insegnante, Caos, Argilla, Dio esiste per essere plasmato. Dio è cambiamento Questa è la pura verità. Non si può resistere o fermare Dio, ma lo si può plasmare e mettere a fuoco. Ciò significa che a Dio non vanno rivolte preghiere. Queste aiutano solo chi prega e solo se rafforzano e mettono a fuoco la sua determinazione.

I mean to learn everything I can while I can,' I said. 'If I find myself outside, maybe what I've learned will help me live long enough to learn more.

Éramos batistas — falei. — Eu não conseguia acreditar, e não contava a ninguém. Meu pai era o ministro. Fiquei quieta e comecei a entender a Semente da Terra. — Começou a inventar a Semente da Terra — comentou ele. — Comecei a descobrir e a entendê-la — corrigi. — Encontrar a verdade não é a mesma coisa que inventar coisas.

I hope people who read Parable of the Sower will think about where we seem to be heading--we the United States, even we the human species. Where are we going? What sort of future are we creating? Is it the kind of future you want to live in? If it isn't, what can we do to create a better future?

Interesting that they fear Edward Jay Smith's supposed incompetence more than they fear Jarret's obvious tyranny.

Il mio Dio non mi non mi ama o mi odia, non mi sorveglia né mi conosce e io non provo né amore né lealtà nei suoi confronti. Il mio Dio semplicemente è.

How stupid to be sick and know where there was healing and decide to stay sick.

Às vezes, eu escrevia coisas porque não conseguia dizê-las, não conseguia entender meus sentimentos em relação a elas, não conseguia mantê-las presas dentro de mim. Era um tipo de escrita que eu sempre destruía depois. Não era para ninguém.

Nothing is going to save us. If we don't save ourselves, we're dead.

Of course they would come back, or others would come. That would happen no matter what. And Cory was right. The next thieves might not lose their guns and run away. So what? Should we lie in our beds and let them take all we had and hope they were content with stripping our gardens? How long does a thief stay content? And what's it like to starve?

What are guards but villagers doing a tiresome, temporary duty?