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Book cover for Babel
‘Why’s he the only one with a table?’ Ramy asked. ‘Why are the Brahmins on the floor?’ ‘Well, I suppose Hindus preferred it that way,’ said Billings. ‘They like sitting cross-legged, you see, for they find it more comfortable.’ ‘Very ...more
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Emilia Hart
“Perhaps one day (...) there will be a safer time, when women could walk the Earth, shining bright with power, and yet live.”
Emilia Hart, Weyward

Robin Wall Kimmerer
“In fact, the “monster” in Potawatomi culture is Windigo, who suffers from the illness of taking too much and sharing too little. It is a cannibal, whose hunger is never sated, eating through the world. Windigo thinking jeopardizes the survival of the community by incentivizing individual accumulation far beyond the satisfaction of “enoughness.” Contemporary Windigos who cannibalize life for accumulation of money need their own name.”
Robin Wall Kimmerer, The Serviceberry: Abundance and Reciprocity in the Natural World

Robin Wall Kimmerer
“What if our metrics for well-being included birdsong, the crescendo of Crickets on a summer evening, and neighbors calling to each other across the road?”
Robin Wall Kimmerer, The Serviceberry: Abundance and Reciprocity in the Natural World

Robin Wall Kimmerer
“Let’s remember that the “System” is led by individuals, by a relatively small number of people, who have names, with more money than God and certainly less compassion. They sit in boardrooms deciding to exploit fossil fuels for short-term gain while the world burns. They know the science, they know the consequences, but they proceed with ecocidal business as usual and do it anyway. Their behavior feels to me like the same kind of arrogant entitlement as Darren the Farm Stand thief or Darren the Planet Wrecker. They’re all thieves, stealing our future, while we pass around the zucchini.”
Robin Wall Kimmerer, The Serviceberry: Abundance and Reciprocity in the Natural World

Dorothy Allison
“Greenville, South Carolina, in 1955 was the most beautiful place in the world. Black walnut trees dropped their green-black fuzzy bulbs on Aunt Ruth’s matted lawn, past where their knotty roots rose up out of the ground like the elbows and knees of dirty children suntanned dark and covered with scars. Weeping willows marched across the yard, following every wandering stream and ditch, their long whiplike fronds making tents that sheltered sweet-smelling beds of clover.”
Dorothy Allison, Bastard Out of Carolina

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