By Margaret Atwood
This is the book that sets up Atwoods book "Oryk and Crake," which I previously posted.
“What breaks in daybreak? Is it the night? Is it
the sun, cracked in two by the horizon, like an egg spilling out light?"
“Time is not a thing that passes; it is a sea on
which you float.”
“How easy it is, treachery. You just slide into it.”
“Nobody likes it, thought Toby — being a body a
thing. Nobody wants to be limited in that way. We’d rather have wings.
Even the word /flesh/ has a mushy sound to it.”
“Maybe sadness was a kind of hunger, she thought.
Maybe the two went together.”
Book 46
