Mila

Add friend
Sign in to Goodreads to learn more about Mila.


Zorba the Greek
Mila is currently reading
bookshelves: currently-reading
Rate this book
Clear rating

progress: 
 
  (page 144 of 335)
Nov 15, 2025 11:31PM

 
Stoner
Mila is currently reading
bookshelves: currently-reading
Rate this book
Clear rating

 
Meditations
Mila is currently reading
bookshelves: currently-reading
Rate this book
Clear rating

progress: 
 
  (page 70 of 254)
Nov 16, 2025 06:45AM

 
See all 9 books that Mila is reading…
Loading...
Margaret Atwood
“Outside, a streetcar rumbles past, bell clanging. Streetcars must have been going past all this time. Why then has the effect been silence? Silence and his breath, their breaths, labouring, withheld, trying not to make any noise. Or not too much noise. Why should pleasure sound so much like distress? Like someone wounded. He'd put his hand over her mouth.”
Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin

Margaret Atwood
“Despite those eyes, the pure line of the throat, he catches a glimpse of something complex and smirched.”
Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin

Margaret Atwood
“Hands like stumps: those hands could rescue you or beat you to a pulp and they would look the same while doing either thing.”
Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin

Margaret Atwood
“The scent of moist dirt and fresh growth washes in over me, watery, slippery, with an acid taste to it like the bark of a tree. It smells like youth; it smells like heartbreak.”
Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin

Margaret Atwood
“There is something subversive about this garden of Serena’s, a sense of buried things bursting upwards, wordlessly, into the light, as if to point, to say: Whatever is silenced will clamour to be heard, though silently. A Tennyson garden, heavy with scent, languid; the return of the word swoon. Light pours down upon it from the sun, true, but also heat rises, from the flowers themselves, you can feel it: like holding your hand an inch above an arm, a shoulder. It breathes, in the warmth, breathing itself in. To walk through it in these days, of peonies, of pinks and carnations, makes my head swim.
The willow is in full plumage and is no help, with its insinuating whispers. Rendezvous, it says, terraces; the sibilants run up my spine, a shiver as if in fever. The summer dress rustles against the flesh of my thighs, the grass grown underfoot, at the edges of my eyes there are movements, in the branches; feathers, flittings, grace notes, tree into bird, metamorphosis run wild. Goddesses are possible now and the air suffuses with desire. Even the bricks of the house are softening, becoming tactile; if I leaned against them they’d be warm and yielding.”
Margaret Atwood , The Handmaid's Tale

year in books

Mila hasn't connected with her friends on Goodreads, yet.





Polls voted on by Mila

Lists liked by Mila