How we cite our quotes: (Part.Chapter.Paragraph)
Quote #7
"And now the old story had begun to write itself over there," said Carl softly. "Isn't it queer: there are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened before; like the larks in this country, they have been singing the same five notes over for thousands of years." (2.4.13)
Hey, maybe Nebraska really is "for lovers." Carl thinks human dramas and love stories are basically just more of the same, over and over again. They're basically just part of nature.
Quote #8
That summer the rains had been so many and opportune that it was almost more than Shabata and his man could do to keep up with the corn; the orchard was a neglected wilderness. All sorts of weeds and herbs and flowers had grown up there; splotches of wild larkspur, pale green-and-white spikes of hoarhound, plantations of wild cotton, tangles of foxtail and wild wheat. South of the apricot trees, cornering on the wheatfield, was Frank's alfalfa, where myriads of white and yellow butterflies were always fluttering above the purple blossoms. When Emil reached the lower corner by the hedge, Marie was sitting under her white mulberry tree, the pailful of cherries beside her, looking off at the gentle tireless swelling of the wheat. (2.8.9)
Whew. Let's stop and take in this pastoral passage. The land has gone from cold and barren to out-of-control fertile. But check out that last sentence: the hookup between Marie and Emil is foreshadowed in the land's outburst of growth and energy.
Quote #9
Winter has settled down over the Divide again; the season in which Nature recuperates, in which she sinks to sleep between the fruitfulness of autumn and the passion of spring. The birds have gone. The teeming life that goes on down in the long grass is exterminated. The prairie-dog keeps his hole. The rabbits run shivering from one frozen garden patch to another and are hard put to it to find frost-bitten cabbage-stalks. At night the coyotes roam the wintry waste, howling for food. The variegated fields are all one color now; the pastures, the stubble, the roads, the sky are the same leaden gray. The hedgerows and trees are scarcely perceptible against the bare earth, whose slaty hue they have taken on. The ground is frozen so hard that it bruises the foot to walk in the roads or in the ploughed fields. It is like an iron country, and the spirit is oppressed by its rigor and melancholy. One could easily believe that in that dead landscape the germs of life and fruitfulness were extinct forever. (3.1.1)
Here's another long, pastoral passage, but one that also makes an important point for the novel. In wintertime, the Divide seems to die, and even when everyone knows that spring will come again, it's pretty hard not to feel down. But spring will come. The way the seasons repeat reminds us of Carl's sentiment that love stories are just the same thing, over and over (see above). The natural environment becomes something like a blueprint for human dramas.