Quote

I lie on the floor, washed by nothing and hanging on. I cry at night. I am afraid of hearing voices, or a voice. I have come to the edge, of the land. I could get pushed over.

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
Afraid
Hanging
Land
Sanity
Lying
Floor
Voice
Voices
Fear
Edge
Night
Edges
Come
Hearing
Washed
Nothing
Cry
Pushed

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The moment of betrayal is the worst, the moment when you know beyond any doubt that you've been betrayed: that some other human being has wished you that much evil
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The problem with meditating is I generally go to sleep, and that's because I'm doing it wrong.
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And yet it disturbs me to learn I have hurt someone unintentionally. I want all my hurts to be intentional.
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Nothing is more difficult than to understand the dead, I've found but nothing is more dangerous than to ignore them.
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The internet is 95 percent porn and spam
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But in the end, back she comes. There's no use resisting. She goes to him for amnesia, for oblivion. She renders herself up, is blotted out enters the darkness of her own body, forgets her name. Immolation is what she wants, however briefly. To exist without boundaries.
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A prison does not only lock its inmates inside, it keeps all others out. Her strongest prison is of her own construction.
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The proper study of Mankind is Everything.
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There's an epigram tacked to my office bulletin board, pinched from a magazine -- Wanting to meet an author because you like his work is like wanting to meet a duck because you like pâté.
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I felt white, drained of blood, cared for, purified. Peaceful.
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I was horrified in high school by the fate of the hanged maids at the end of the Odyssey it seemed unfair to me, even then.
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Maybe the life I think I'm living is a paranoid delusion...Sanity is a valuable possession I hoard it the way people once hoarded money. I save it, so I will have enough, when the time comes.
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Better not to invent her in her absence. Better to wait until she's actually here. Then he can make her up as she goes along.
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He doesn't know which is worse, a past he can't regain or a present that will destroy him if he looks at it too clearly. Then there's the future. Sheer vertigo.
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at last you, will say (maybe without speaking) (there are mountains inside your skull garden and chaos, ocean and hurricane certain corners of rooms, portraits of great-grandmothers, curtains of a particular shade your deserts your private dinosaurs the first woman) all i need to know: tell me everything just as it was from the beginning.
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