Quote

Today on the way home, it snows. Big, soft caressing flakes fall onto our skin like cold moths the air fills with feathers.

Margaret Atwood

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Margaret Atwood
Age: 85
Born: 1939
Born: November 18
Essayist
Inventor
Literary Critic
Non-Fiction Writer
Novelist
Pedagogue
Poet
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Ottawa (Ontario)
Margaret Eleanor Atwood
Fall
Onto
Home
Soft
Today
Snow
Caressing
Way
Skin
Snows
Like
Skins
Flakes
Air
Moths
Cold
Fills
Bigs
Feathers

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If you disagree with your government, that's political. If you disagree with your government that is approaching theocracy, then you're evil.
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Jimmy had been full of himself back then, thinks Snowman with indulgence and a little envy. He’d been unhappy too, of course. It went without saying, his unhappiness. He’d put a lot of energy into it.
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You can pretty much trace when the big individual indebtedness kicked in, and it was when the credit card became generally available.
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Science fiction, to me, has not only things that wouldn't happen, but other planets.
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It made him feel invisible—not that he wanted to feel anything else.
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It wasn't so easy though, ending the war. A war is a huge fire the ashes from it drift far, and settle slowly.
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We battled in secret, undeclared, and after a while I no longer fought back because I never won. The only defense was flight, invisibility.
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Every habit he's ever had is still there in his body, lying dormant like flowers in the desert. Given the right conditions, all his old addictions would burst into full and luxuriant bloom.
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The facts of this world seen clearly are seen through tears.
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Remember,' she'd tell her staff, 'every customer wants to feel like a princess, and princesses are selfish and overbearing.
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I stand on the corner, pretending I am a tree.
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The best way of keeping a secret is to pretend there isn't one.
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Every novel is-at the beginning-the same opening of a door onto a completely unknown space.
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She knows the rituals, she knows how we're supposed to be behaving...But I think these things are impenetrable and fraudulent, and I can't do them without feeling I'm acting.
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friendship was always contingent.
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We pulled the seeds out and scattered them on their flossy parachutes, leaving only the leathery brownish yellow tongue, soft as the inside of an elbow.
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What you get is no longer what you see.
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I was born in the Ottawa General Hospital right after the Gray Cup Football Game in 1939. Six months later, I was backpacked into the Quebec bush. I grew up in and out of the bush, in and out of Ottawa, Sault Ste. Marie and Toronto.
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I am not your justification for existence.
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She had no images of this love. She could offer no anecdotes. It was a belief rather than a memory.
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