Pearl S. Buck

Out of the woman's great brown breast the milk gushed forth for the child, milk as white as snow, and when the child suckled at the one breast it flowed like a fountain from the other, ans she let it flow. There was more than enough for the child, greedy though he was, life enough for many children, and she let it flow out carelessly, conscious of her abundance. There was always more. Sometimes she lifted her breast and let it flow out upon the ground to save her clothing, and it sank into the earth and made a soft, dark, rich spot in the field. The child fat and good-natured and ate of the inexhaustible life his mother gave him.

The narrator refers to a character as "an oily scoundrel whose hands were heavy with the money that stuck to them.

An intelligent, energetic, educated woman cannot be kept in four walls _ even satin-lined, diamond-studded walls _ without discovering sooner or later that they are still a prison

Inside myself is a place where I live all alone, and that's where I renew my springs that never dry up. ~Pearl Buck

There was no need to hurry that future__et the length of his own youth pressed upon him. Whatever he was to do next he wanted to begin now. But how to begin and on what?

The old deep sadness of life lay in the bottom of her heart and she knew it was there, but she would not allow herself to sink into it. Out of the dark and sullen bottom of a lake the lotus flowers bloomed upon its surface, and she would pluck the flowers.

However impatient she might be in the day, however filled with little sudden angers, at night she was all tenderness.

Nothing in life is as good as the marriage of true minds between man and woman. As good? It is life itself.