And what will be their fate?” he asked. “Forgive me master, but I am curious to know, so that my heart may prepare itself.”
“Flesh without spirit,” I said. “Life without hope, the slavery of mankind-a bondage so hopeless that slaves will no longer know they are slaves. Wealth without happiness, abundance without the power to enjoy it. The death of the spirit.
About author
- Author's profession: Author
- Nationality: finnish
- Born: September 19, 1908
- Died: August 26, 1979
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We have begun to slam doors, and to throw things. I throw my purse, an ashtray, a package of chocolate chips, which breaks on impact. We are picking up chocolate chips for days. Jon throws a glass of milk, the milk, not the glass: he knows his own strength, as I do not. He throws a box of Cheerios, unopened. The things I throw miss, although they are worse things. The things he throws hit, but are harmless. I begin to see how the line is crossed, between histrionics and murder.
Margaret Atwood
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