I was stuck in Port Ticonderoga, proud bastion of the common-and-garden variety button and of lower-priced long johns for the budget-minded shoppers. I would stagnate here, nothing would ever happen to me, I would end up an old-maid like Miss Violence, pitied and derided. This at the bottom was my fear. I wanted to be elsewhere, but I saw no way to get there. Once in a while, I found myself hoping that I would be abducted by white slavers, even though I didn't believe in them. At least it would be a change...
Margaret AtwoodAbout author
- Author's profession: Novelist, Writer, Poet
- Nationality: canadian
- Born: November 18, 1939
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[A] process was going on in which people were transformed into things, into pieces of reality which pure science can calculate and technical science can control.? [T]he safety which is guaranteed by well-functioning mechanisms for the technical control of nature, by the refined psychological control of the person, by the rapidly increasing organizational control of society? this safety is bought at a high price: man, for whom all this was invented as a means, becomes a means himself in the...
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I know what you're thinking," Grandma said into the silence. "Do I have anymore bullets in this here gun? Well, with all the confusion, what with being locked up in a refrigerator, I plumb forgot what was in here to start with. But being that this is a 45 magnum, the most powerful handgun in existence, and it could blow your head clean off, you just got to ask yourself one question. Do you feel lucky today? Well, do you, punk?"Christ," Spiro whispered. "She thinks she's f**king Clint Eastwood.
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