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The Testaments
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by Margaret Atwood (Goodreads Author)
bookshelves: law, currently-reading
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  (page 86 of 415)
May 03, 2026 02:54PM

 
Red Comet: The Sh...
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Jane Austen
“I do not think I ever opened a book in my life which had not something to say upon woman's inconstancy. Songs and proverbs, all talk of woman's fickleness. But perhaps you will say, these were all written by men."

"Perhaps I shall. Yes, yes, if you please, no reference to examples in books. Men have had every advantage of us in telling their own story. Education has been theirs in so much higher a degree; the pen has been in their hands. I will not allow books to prove anything.”
Jane Austen, Persuasion

Markus Zusak
“Sometimes I think my papa is an accordion. When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes.”
Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

Markus Zusak
“His soul sat up. It met me. Those kinds of souls always do - the best ones. The ones who rise up and say "I know who you are and I am ready. Not that I want to go, of course, but I will come." Those souls are always light because more of them have been put out. More of them have already found their way to other places.”
Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

“The Pond"

August of another summer, and once again
I am drinking the sun
and the lilies again are spread across the water.
I know now what they want is to touch each other.
I have not been here for many years
during which time I kept living my life.
Like the heron, who can only croak, who wishes he
could sing,
I wish I could sing.
A little thanks from every throat would be appropriate.
This is how it has been, and this is how it is:
All my life I have been able to feel happiness,
except whatever was not happiness,
which I also remember.
Each of us wears a shadow.
But just now it is summer again
and I am watching the lilies bow to each other,
then slide on the wind and the tug of desire,
close, close to one another,
Soon now, I'll turn and start for home.
And who knows, maybe I'll be singing.”
Mary Oliver, Felicity

Markus Zusak
“The words were on their way, and when they arrived, she would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would wring them out like the rain.”
Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

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