I did not know how to paint or even what to paint, but I knew I had to begin.
MARGARET ATWOODI did not know how to paint or even what to paint, but I knew I had to begin.
MARGARET ATWOODMaybe that’s what love is, I thought: it’s being pissed off.
MARGARET ATWOODWaste not want not. I am not being wasted. Why do I want?
MARGARET ATWOODI grew up in the north woods of Canada. You had to know certain things about survival. Wilderness survival courses weren’t very formalized when I was growing up, but I was taught certain things about what to do if I got lost in the woods.
MARGARET ATWOODIn the end, we’ll all become stories.
MARGARET ATWOODI was kidnapped by literature at a young age and never wanted to be ransomed.
MARGARET ATWOODVictorian literature was my subject at Harvard.
MARGARET ATWOODI didn’t go to school for a full year until I was 12. In the summer I was a wild child in the woods, with no shoes, and in the fall it was back to the city, shoe shops and school.
MARGARET ATWOODIf one of the arguments against eating meat is to do with cruelty and animal intelligence, then lab meat avoids that. There’s also the environmental argument for it.
MARGARET ATWOODI’m from the generation that had the boys’ door and the girls’ door when you went to school, and you got in big trouble if you went in the wrong one.
MARGARET ATWOODI’m a person of whim, and easily distracted. I don’t like multitasking. When I’m doing one thing, I like to do just that thing.
MARGARET ATWOODI read for pleasure and that is the moment I learn the most.
MARGARET ATWOODA lot of being a poet consists of willed ignorance. If you woke up from your trance and realized the nature of the life-threatening and dignity-destroying precipice you were walking along, you would switch into actuarial sciences immediately.
MARGARET ATWOODStick a shovel into the ground almost anywhere and some horrible thing or other will come to light. Good for trade, we thrive on bones; without them there’d be no stories.
MARGARET ATWOODCanada was built on dead beavers.
MARGARET ATWOODThe heart with letters on it shining like a light bulb through the trim hole painted in the chest, art history.
MARGARET ATWOOD