Margaret Atwood
Born: 11-17-1939
Margaret Atwood is a celebrated Canadian author, renowned for her thought-provoking novels, poetry, and essays. She is best known for "The Handmaid's Tale," which has become a modern classic. Atwood's work often explores themes of feminism, environmentalism, and dystopian futures. With numerous accolades, including the Booker Prize, her impactful storytelling and insightful commentary have cemented her as a pivotal voice in contemporary literature.
Book summaries for books written by Margaret Atwood
Quotes
You cannot hold a man responsible for defending, by any means necessary, that which he holds as his own.
Sometimes the human spirit simply needs a great deal of nourishment.
When you are in the middle of a story, it isn’t a story at all, but only a confusion; a dark roaring, a blindness, a wreckage of shattered glass and splintered wood.
It is a comfort, perhaps, to have a lover who is less than a whole man.
But we are all hungry when it comes to forgiveness, and we can forgive almost anything because we cannot tolerate the idea of not being forgiven ourselves.
There’s a desire within her that is nothing more nor less than an expression of a hunger for property: house, clothing, jewelry, beaver hats, shoes, gloves, china dishes, tables, chairs, rugs, towels. These gifts make her lavish, confident, independent, her own woman, mistress of the household.
You think that you cannot live without hope, but you can. You can live without hope and curiosity. It is a curse, to be curious. And to hope, always - always - to hope.
A good strong effect on the other inmates is something to be looked for; and in every instance, the least appearance of refinement in a woman is an advantage.
The governesses drew themselves up when they spoke to me, and before they left they would pull down their sleeves and make sure the children's mittens were buttoned up, but nothing ever made me think I might be different from them.
There is much less glory in a good death than in a fighting death, a death one has inflicted on an enemy. It is as though it is not glorious enough for the soldiers to kill each other, they have to kill each other in a specific way: hand to hand, in single combat, in personal combat.
When you are in the middle of a story it isn't a story at all, but only a confusion; a dark roaring, a blindness, a wreckage of shattered glass and splintered wood.
That was one of the things Mr. Kinnear liked, for his husband to have a boy around in the evenings, for the gracing of the table and the lending of tone, or as Grace considered it, for the waiting on himself and Prosper.