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 again. Margaret Atwood More Quotes by Margaret Atwood More Quotes From Margaret Atwood I look up at the ceiling, tracing the foliage of the wreath. Today it makes me think of a hat, the large-brimmed hats women used to wear at some period during the old days: hats like enormous halos, festooned with fruit and flowers, and the feathers of exotic birds; hats like an idea of paradise, floating just above the head, a thought solidified. Margaret Atwood flower ideas thinking The past is a closed door. Margaret Atwood closed-doors doors past I did not know that 'poetess' was an insult, and that I myself would some day be called one. I did not know that to be told I had transcended my gender would be considered a compliment. I didn't know — yet — that black was compulsory. All of that was in the future. When I was sixteen, it was simple. Poetry existed; therefore it could be written; and nobody had told me — yet — the many, many reasons why it could not be written by me. Margaret Atwood black simple would-be If you're put on a pedestal, you're supposed to behave yourself like a pedestal type of person. Pedestals actually have a limited circumference. Not much room to move around. Margaret Atwood pedestal rooms moving I no longer feel I'll be dead by thirty; now it's sixty. I suppose these deadlines we set for ourselves are really a way of saying we appreciate time, and want to use all of it. I'm still Margaret Atwood appreciate writing running When I was sixteen, it was simple. Poetry existed; therefore it could be written; and nobody had told me — yet — the many, many reasons why it could not be written by me. Margaret Atwood sixteen simple reason-why No male writer is likely to be asked to sit on a panel addressing itself to the special problems of a male writer. Margaret Atwood males problem special But I keep going on with this sad and hungry and sordid, this limping and mutilated story, because after all I want you to hear it, as I will hear yours too if I ever get the chance, if I meet you or if you escape, in the future or in heaven or in prison or underground, some other place. What they have in common is that they're not here. By telling you anything at all I'm at least believing in you, I believe you're there, I believe you into being. Because I'm telling you this story I will your existence. I tell, therefore you are. Margaret Atwood stories heaven believe Menopause. A pause while you reconsider men. Margaret Atwood menopause pauses men A non-event ... is better to write about than an event, because with a non-event you can make up the meaning yourself, it means whatever you say it means. Margaret Atwood events writing mean I feel that the task of criticizing my poetry is best left to others (i.e. critics) and would much rather have it take place after I am dead. If at all. Margaret Atwood criticize tasks poetry Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress. Margaret Atwood patience water hands It's a lifelong failing: she has never been prepared. But how can you have a sense of wonder if you're prepared for everything? Prepared for the sunset. Prepared for the moonrise. Prepared for the ice storm. What a flat existence that would be. Margaret Atwood sunset ice life Don't eat anything you aren't prepared to kill. Don't kill anything you aren't prepared to eat. Margaret Atwood prepared The central symbol for Canada-and this based on numerous instances of its occurrence in both English and French Canadian literature-is undoubtedly Survival, la Survivance. Margaret Atwood canada survival literature And sometimes it happened, for a time. That kind of love comes and goes and is hard to remember afterwards, like pain. You would look at the man one day and you would think, I loved you, and the tense would be past, and you would be filled with a sense of wonder, because it was such an amazing and precarious and dumb thing to have done; and you would know too why your friends have been evasive about it, at the time. Margaret Atwood pain love past But most hearts say, I want, I want, I want, I want. My heart is more duplicitous, though no twin as I once thought. It says, I want, I don't want, I want, and then a pause. It forces me to listen. Margaret Atwood twins want heart Science never makes things that do not have to do with what we feel, by which I mean what we want and what we fear. Margaret Atwood want feels mean I think of bad news as a huge bird, with the wings of a crow and the face of my Grade Four school teacher, sparse bun, rancid teeth, wrinkly frown, pursed mouth and all, sailing around the world under cover of darkness pleased to be the bearer of ill tidings, carrying a basket of rotten eggs, and knowing- as the sun comes up- exactly where to drop them. On me, for one. Margaret Atwood teacher school thinking Marshall McLuhan is absolutely right, we are always looking in the rear view mirror. Margaret Atwood perspective mirrors views
