Margaret Atwood
Margaret Atwood
Margaret Eleanor Atwood, CC OOnt FRSCis a Canadian poet, novelist, literary critic, essayist, and environmental activist. She is a winner of the Arthur C. Clarke Award and Prince of Asturias Award for Literature, has been shortlisted for the Booker Prize five times, winning once, and has been a finalist for the Governor General's Award several times, winning twice. In 2001, she was inducted into Canada's Walk of Fame. She is also a founder of the Writers' Trust of Canada, a...
NationalityCanadian
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth18 November 1939
CityOttawa, Canada
CountryCanada
He considers me also a little fragile because artistic. I need to be cared for, like a potted plant.
What you get is no longer what you see.
It's evening, one of those gray water-color washes, like liquid dust.
Genres aren't closed boxes. Stuff flows back and forth across the borders all the time.
Karen wasn't hard, she was soft, too soft. A soft touch. Her hair was soft, her smile was soft, her voice was soft. She was so soft there was no resistance. Hard things sank into her, they went right through her, and if she made a real effort, out the other side. Then she didn't have to see them or hear them, or even touch them.
and each of his voices left his body in a different colored soul and floated up towards the sun still singing.
What people want is perfection," said the man. "In themselves." "But they need the steps to it to be pointed out," said the woman. "In a simple order," said the man. "With encouragement," said the woman. "And a positive attitude.
A home filled with nothing but yourself. It's heavy, that lightness. It's crushing, that emptiness.
All observations of life are harsh, because life is. I lament that fact, but I cannot change it.
That is what you have to do before you kill, I thought. You have to create an it, where none was before.
Despite their cool poses they wear their cravings on the outside, like the suckers on a squid. They want it all.
Stick a shovel into the ground almost anywhere and some horrible thing or other will come to light. Good for trade, we thrive on bones; without them there'd be no stories.
oil paints...the look of licked lips.
And consider: it is loss to which everything flows, absence in which everything flowers