It was like being in an elevator cut loose at the top. Falling, falling, and not knowing when you will hit.
Margaret AtwoodAbout author
- Author's profession: Novelist, Writer, Poet
- Nationality: canadian
- Born: November 18, 1939
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Perhaps I am his hope. But then she is his present. And if she is his present, I am not his present. Therefore, I am not, and I wonder why no-one has noticed I am dead and taken the trouble to bury me. For I am utterly collapsed. I lounge with glazed eyes, or weep tears of sheer weakness. All people seem criminally irrelevant. I ignore everyone and everything, and, if crossed or interrupted in my decay, hate. Nature is only the irking weather and flowers crude reminders of stale states of being.
Elizabeth Smart