On the hill behind her crows flew one by one into the bare trees, arranging their dark blots in the scrim of branches and adding their warnings to the drear sounds of this day. Gone, gone, they rasped. Here was a dead world learning to speak in dissonant, unbearable sounds.
-Barbara Kingsolver
Select a background
More quotes by Barbara Kingsolver
Popular Authors
A curated listing of popular authors.