“i sometimes felt as if these marks on my body were a kind of code, which blossomed, then faded, like invisible ink held to a candle. But if they were a code, who held the key to it? I was sand, I was snow—written on, rewritten, smoothed over.”

Source: The Blind Assassin

Last update June 3, 2021. History

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Margaret Atwood 348
Canadian writer 1939

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