While he writes, I feel as if he is drawing me; or not drawing me, drawing on me — drawing on my skin — not with the pencil he is using, but with an … - Margaret Atwood
" "While he writes, I feel as if he is drawing me; or not drawing me, drawing on me — drawing on my skin — not with the pencil he is using, but with an old-fashioned goose pen, and not with the quill end but with the feather end. As if hundreds of butterflies have settled all over my face, and are softly opening and closing their wings.
But underneath that is another feeling, a feeling of being wide-eyed awake and watchful. It's like being wakened suddenly in the middle of the night, by a hand over your face, and you sit up with your heart going fast, and no one is there. And underneath that is another feeling still, a feeling like being torn open; not like a body of flesh, it is not painful as such, but like a peach; and not even torn open, but ripe and splitting open of its own accord.
And inside the peach there's a stone.
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About Margaret Atwood
Margaret Eleanor Atwood (born 18 November 1939) is a Canadian novelist, poet, and literary critic.
Biography information from Wikiquote
Also Known As
Alternative Names:
Margaret Eleanor Atwood
•
Marqaret Etvud
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Shorter versions of this quote
While he writes, I feel as if he is drawing me; or not drawing me, drawing on me - drawing on my skin - not with the pencil he is using, but with an old-fashioned goose pen, and not with the quill end but with the feather end. As if hundreds of butterflies have settled all over my face, and are softly opening and closing their wings.
Additional quotes by Margaret Atwood
She stubs out her cigarette in the brown glass ashtray, then settles herself against him, ear to his chest. She likes to hear his voice this way, as if it begins not in his throat but in his body, like a hum or a growl, or like a voice speaking from deep underground. Like the blood moving through her own heart: a word, a word, a word.
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