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Margaret Atwood

(b. 1939– )

Canadian poet, novelist, literary critic, essayist, and environmental activist

“It’s the first week of October. Season of woolen garments taken out of mothballs; of nocturnal mists and dew and slippery front steps, and late-blooming slugs; of snapdragons having one last fling; of those frilly ornamental pink-and-purple cabbages that never used to exist, but are all over everywhere now.”

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source: The Blind Assassin (New York: Anchor, 2001), paperback ed., 191.

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“All this talking, this rather liquid confessing, was something I didn’t think I could ever bring myself to do. It seemed foolhardy to me, like an uncooked egg deciding to to come out of its shell: there would be a risk of spreading out too far, turning into a formless puddle.”

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source: The Edible Woman (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1999), 112.

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