Quotes About Margaret Atwood

Rachel; and he said, Am I in God's stead, who hath withheld from thee the fruit of the womb?   And she said, Behold my maid Bilhah

She is dying because she said. She is dying for the sake of the word. It is her body, silent and fingerless, writing this poem.

Those years were just an anomaly, historically speaking, the Commander said, just a fluke. All we've done is return things to Nature's norm.

hippo. Like something that basks, anyway. Even her knitting is going better than

The protector was her, the greater power was her, the Universe that took an interest was her as well; always her. "I love you," I said.

Why was she doing that?" I asked cautiously. "Collecting penises?" "Some people collect stamps, she collected penises. Many of us did in those days. Anyway, he consulted me—through a clairvoyant, of course, as I was no longer in that earthly incarnation. I told him to complain to the authorities, so he did, and she was forced to give the penis back.

I always remembered what she looked like, the dried apple face, the silvery gray hair, the snapping blue eyes.

Life, life, you sang with every cell, compelled into dancing as the spell held you enchained and you burned air.

Oblivion was increasingly attractive, since why retain your brain when no amount of thinking could even begin to solve the problem?

Stan got the message. He allowed the chicken assignations. What did that make him? A chicken pimp. Better than dead.

I try not to think too much. Like other things now, thought must be rationed. There's a lot that doesn't bear thinking about. Thinking can hurt your chances, and I intend to last.

Fatigue is here, in my body, in my legs and eyes. That is what gets you in the end. Faith is only a word, embroidered. I

The Dead Hand , yeah, it was, like, seminal, but tame by today's standards. Violet, for instance, did not get her intestines ripped out. There wasn't any torture, nobody's liver got fried in a pan, there wasn't any gang rape. So what's the fun of that?

The question at this age is what kind of dog you will shortly resemble. She will be a beagle, Prue a terrier. Pamela will be an Afghan, or something equally unearthly.

Here is what I'd like to tell. I'd like to tell a story about how Moira escaped, for good this time. Or if I couldn't tell that, I'd like to say she blew up Jezebel's, with fifty Commanders inside it. I'd like her to end with something daring and spectacular, some outrage, something that would befit her. But as far as I know that didn't happen. I don't know how she ended, or even if she did, because I never saw her again.

Don't go into great detail describing places and things, unless you're ­Margaret Atwood and can paint scenes with language. You don't want descriptions that bring the action, the flow of the story, to a standstill.

'The Handmaid's Tale' takes place in the near future, a dystopian future, and is based on the book by Margaret Atwood. It takes place in what was formerly part of the United States at a period of time when society has been taken over by a totalitarian theocracy. It's about the women who live in subjugation.

If the national mental illness of the United States is megalomania, that of Canada is paranoid schizophrenia.

I was delighted with the film [Payback: Debt and the Shadow Side of Wealth]; it almost made me want to be a film-maker!

Where is the B. who didn't at all like speculative fiction writers, with the exception of Margaret Atwood and the Jewish triumvirs: Asimov, Ellison, and Tidhar?" "Really?" I say. "Tidhar? Jesus Christ." "Yes," she screams. "Tidhar! You loved Tidhar!

Yet it is hard to find many wars that have resulted from miscommunications or misunderstandings. Far more often they break out because of malevolent intent and the absence of deterrence, or because a prior war ended without a clear resolution or without settling disagreements—in a manner of Rome's first two wars with Carthage. Again, Margaret Atwood was empirical when she wrote in her poem, "Wars happen because the ones who start them / think they can win.

When I first read Margaret Atwood's novel 'The Handmaid's Tale,' it was Saudi Arabia as I knew it that came to mind, not a dystopian future United States as in the new television adaptation.

Foreignness is all around. Only in the heart of the heart of the country, namely the heart of the United States, can you avoid such a thing. In the center of an empire, you can think of your experience as universal. Outside the empire or on the fringes of the empire, you cannot.

But maybe boredom is erotic, when women do it, for men.