“ Why is it that night falls, instead of rising, like the dawn? Yet if you look east, at sunset, you can see night rising, not falling; darkness lifting into the sky, up from the horizon... Margaret Atwood
“ Why is it always such a surprise? thinks Toby. The moon. Even though we know it's coming. Every time we see it, it makes us pause, and hush. Margaret Atwood
“ We were the people who were not in the papers. We lived in the blank white spaces at the edges of print. It gave us more freedom.We lived in the gaps between the stories. Margaret Atwood
“ UPYou wake up filled with dread.There seems no reason for it.Morning light sifts through the window,there is birdsong,you can't get out of bed.It's something about the crumpled sheetshanging over the… Margaret Atwood
“ Time folds you in its arms and gives you one last kiss, and then it flattens you out and folds you up and tucks you away until it's time for you to become someone else's past time, and then time folds… Margaret Atwood
“ The stains on the mattress. Like dried flower petals. Not recent. Old love; there's no other kind of love in this room now. Margaret Atwood
“ The people in the chaos cannot learn. They cannot understand what they are doing to the sea and the sky and the plants and the animals. They cannot understand that they are killing them, and that they… Margaret Atwood
“ She knows herself to be at the mercy of events, and she knows by now that events have no mercy. Margaret Atwood
“ Once in a while, though, he went on binges. He would sneak into bookstores or libraries, lurk around the racks where the little magazines were kept; sometimes he'd buy one. Dead poets were his busines… Margaret Atwood
“ It's simple,' Kat told them. 'You bombard them with images of what they ought to be, and you make them feel grotty for being the way they are. You're working with the gap between reality and perceptio… Margaret Atwood
“ I want to keep on living, in any form. I resign my body freely, to the uses of others. They Margaret Atwood
“ I sink down into my body as into a swamp, fenland, where only I know the footing….I’m a cloud, congealed around a central object, the shape of a pear, which is hard and more real than I am and glows r… Margaret Atwood
