Atwood Quotes

“The true story is vicious and multiple and untrue after all. Why do you need it? Don’t ever ask for the true story.”
― Margaret Atwood

“Red Fox

The red fox crosses the ice
intent on none of my business.
It's winter and slim pickings.

I stand in the bushy cemetery,
pretending to watch birds,
but really watching the fox
who could care less.
She pauses on the sheer glare
of the pond. She knows I'm there,
sniffs me in the wind at her shoulder.
If I had a gun or dog
or a raw heart, she'd smell it.
She didn't get this smart for nothing.

She's a lean vixen: I can see
the ribs, the sly
trickster's eyes, filled with longing
and desperation, the skinny
feet, adept at lies.

Why encourage the notion
of virtuous poverty?

It's only an excuse
for zero charity.
Hunger corrupts, and absolute hunger
corrupts absolutely,
or almost. Of course there are mothers,
squeezing their breasts
dry, pawning their bodies,
shedding teeth for their children,
or that's our fond belief.
But remember - Hansel
and Gretel were dumped in the forest
because their parents were starving.
Sauve qui peut. To survive
we'd all turn thief

and rascal, or so says the fox,
with her coat of an elegant scoundrel,
her white knife of a smile,
who knows just where she's going:

to steal something
that doesn't belong to her -
some chicken, or one more chance,
or other life.”
― Margaret Atwood, Morning In The Burned House: Poems

“...and the evening was so beautiful, that it made a pain in my heart, as when you cannot tell wether you are happy or sad; and I thought that if I could have a wish, it would be that nothing would ever change, and we would stay that way forever.”
― Margaret Atwood, Alias Grace

“Helen of Troy Does Counter Dancing

The world is full of women
who'd tell me I should be ashamed of myself
if they had the chance. Quit dancing.
Get some self-respect
and a day job.
Right. And minimum wage,
and varicose veins, just standing
in one place for eight hours
behind a glass counter
bundled up to the neck, instead of
naked as a meat sandwich.
Selling gloves, or something.
Instead of what I do sell.
You have to have talent
to peddle a thing so nebulous
and without material form.
Exploited, they'd say. Yes, any way
you cut it, but I've a choice
of how, and I'll take the money.

I do give value.
Like preachers, I sell vision,
like perfume ads, desire
or its facsimile. Like jokes
or war, it's all in the timing.
I sell men back their worst suspicions:
that everything's for sale,
and piecemeal. They gaze at me and see
a chain-saw murder just before it happens,
when thigh, ass, inkblot, crevice, tit, and nipple
are still connected.
Such hatred leaps in them,
my beery worshipers! That, or a bleary
hopeless love. Seeing the rows of heads
and upturned eyes, imploring
but ready to snap at my ankles,
I understand floods and earthquakes, and the urge
to step on ants. I keep the beat,
and dance for them because
they can't. The music smells like foxes,
crisp as heated metal
searing the nostrils
or humid as August, hazy and languorous
as a looted city the day after,
when all the rape's been done
already, and the killing,
and the survivors wander around
looking for garbage
to eat, and there's only a bleak exhaustion.

Speaking of which, it's the smiling
tires me out the most.
This, and the pretense
that I can't hear them.
And I can't, because I'm after all
a foreigner to them.
The speech here is all warty gutturals,
obvious as a slam of ham,
but I come from the province of the gods
where meaning are lilting and oblique.
I don't let on to everyone,
but lean close, and I'll whisper:
My mothers was raped by a holy swan.
You believe that? You can take me out to dinner.
That's what we tell all the husbands.
There sure are a lot of dangerous birds around.

Not that anyone here
but you would understand.
The rest of them would like to watch me
and feel nothing. Reduce me to components
as in a clock factory or abattoir.
Crush out the mystery.
Wall me up alive
in my own body.
They'd like to see through me,
but nothing is more opaque
than absolute transparency.
Look - my feet don't hit the marble!
Like breath or a balloon, I'm rising,
I hover six inches in the air
in my blazing swan-egg of light.
You think I'm not a goddess?
Try me.
This is a torch song.
Touch me and you'll burn.”
― Margaret Atwood, Morning In The Burned House: Poems

“I guess that's how they were able to do it, in the way they did, all at once, without anyone knowing beforehand. If there had still been portable money, it would have been more difficult.
"It was after the catastrophe, when they shot the president and machine-gunned the Congress and the army declared a state of emergency. They blamed it on the Islamic fanatics, at the time.
"Keep calm, they said on television. Everything is under control.
"I was stunned. Everyone was, I know that. It was hard to believe. The entire government, gone like that. How did they get in, how did it happen?
"That was when they suspended the Constitution. They said it would be temporary. There wasn't even any rioting in the streets. People stayed at home at night, watching television, looking for some direction. There wasn't even an enemy you could point your finger at.
...
"Newspapers were censored and some were closed down, for security reasons they said. The roadblocks began to appear, and Identipasses. Everyone approved of that, since it was obvious you couldn't be too careful.”
― Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale

“Every Canadian has a complicated relationship with the United States, whereas Americans think of Canada as the place where the weather comes from.”
― Margaret Atwood

“Girl Without Hands

Walking through the ruins
on your way to work
that do not look like ruins
with the sunlight pouring over
the seen world
like hail or melted
silver, that bright
and magnificent, each leaf
and stone quickened and specific in it,
and you can't hold it,
you can't hold any of it. Distance surrounds you,
marked out by the ends of your arms
when they are stretched to their fullest.
You can go no farther than this,
you think, walking forward,
pushing the distance in front of you
like a metal cart on wheels
with its barriers and horizontals.
Appearance melts away from you,
the offices and pyramids
on the horizon shimmer and cease.
No one can enter that circle
you have made, that clean circle
of dead space you have made
and stay inside,
mourning because it is clean.

Then there's the girl, in the white dress,
meaning purity, or the failure
to be any colour. She has no hands, it's true.
The scream that happened to the air
when they were taken off
surrounds her now like an aureole
of hot sand, of no sound.
Everything has bled out of her.

Only a girl like this
can know what's happened to you.
If she were here she would
reach out her arms towards
you now, and touch you
with her absent hands
and you would feel nothing, but you would be
touched all the same.”
― Margaret Atwood, Morning In The Burned House: Poems

“Wind comes in, your candle tips over and flares up, and a loose tent-flap catches fire, and through the widening black-edged gap you can see the eyes of the howlers, red and shining in the light from your burning paper shelter, but you keep on writing anyway because what else can you do?”
― Margaret Atwood, The Tent

“But once you’ve climbed a ladder, what use is it? You kick it away, if you don’t intend to go down it again.”
― Margaret Atwood, Hag-Seed

“La normalità, diceva Zia Lydia, significa ciò cui si è abituati. Se qualcosa potrà non sembrarvi normale al momento, dopo un po' di tempo lo sarà. Diventerà normale."
Margaret Atwood, Il racconto dell'ancella, traduzione di Camillo Pennati”
― Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale

“Bugün dünyada ve dünya atmosferinde var olan bütün moleküler maddeler, dünya kurulduğunda da vardı; dünyanın yaradılışı ister daha büyük bir kütlenin patlaması, ister gazlı bir yıkıntının yoğunlaşması sonucunda gerçekleşmiş olsun. Bu moleküler maddeler yalnızca birleştiler, parçalanıp dağıldılar, sonra yeniden birleştiler. Bu arada birkaç molekül ve atom uzaya kaçtıysa da, var olanlara hiçbir şey eklenmedi. Lesje bu gerçeği düşünerek yatışıyor. Kendisi de yalnızca bir canlı örneği, o kadar; değişmez bir nesne değil. Değişmez bir nesne diye bir şey yoktur zaten. Bir gün vakti gelince, Lesje da çözülüp ayrışacak.”
― Margaret Atwood, Life Before Man

“Sanmam ki ağaç kadar güzel bir şiir olsun.”
― Margaret Atwood, Life Before Man

“Nilüfer yaprağı üzerindeki su perisi bakışı”
― Margaret Atwood, Life Before Man

“Kar Adamı’nın zamanını geçirme yolları bulması giderek zorlaşıyor. Zamanını ha? Ne saçma bir fikir. Sanki ona bir kutu dolusu zaman verilmiş gibi… İçi para niyetine harcayabileceği saatlerle, dakikalarla silme dolu bir kutu. Sorun şu ki, kutuda delikler var. Bu yüzden Kar Adamı ne yaparsa yapsın zaman akıp gidiyor.”
― Margaret Atwood, 미친 아담

“It’s always risky, the prospect that the prisoners might be having more fun than the guards. Resentment can build up, and that would cause problems for Felix.”
― Margaret Atwood, Hag-Seed

“When worst comes to worst—as it will very soon—I’ll make a quick exit. A needleful or two of morphine will do it. Best that way: if I allowed myself to live, I would disgorge too much truth. Torture is like dancing: I’m too old for it. Let the younger ones practise their bravery. Though they may not have a choice about that, since they lack my privileges.”
― Margaret Atwood