Why are we designed to see the world as supremely beautiful just as we're about to be snuffed? Do rabbits feel the same as the fox teeth bite down on their necks? Is it mercy?
Interpretation
The quote questions the paradox of perceiving beauty in life moments just before death, pondering if there's a form of mercy in this awareness.
Margaret Atwood's quote explores a profound philosophical inquiry about human perception of beauty in the face of mortality. It suggests that as one nears the end of life, there may be a heightened awareness of the world's beauty, prompting questions about whether this appreciation acts as a consolation or mercy. Atwood also alludes to a deeper instinctual experience of life and death, comparing it to the predator-prey dynamic, ultimately digging into the complex emotional landscape humans navigate in their final moments.
In practice
This quote could be used in a discussion about art and its relation to human experience at a gallery opening.
If I am good enough and quiet enough, perhaps after all they will let me go; but it’s not easy being quiet and good, it’s like hanging on to the edge of a bridge when you’ve already fallen over; you don’t seem to be moving, just dangling there, and yet it is taking all your strength.
I would like to believe this is a story I’m telling. I need to believe it. I must believe it. Those who can believe that such stories are only stories have a better chance. If it’s a story I’m telling, then I have control over the ending. Then there will be an ending, to the story, and real life will come after it. I can pick up where I left off.
What else can I do? Once you've gone this far you aren't fit for anything else. Something happens to your mind. You're overqualified, overspecialized, and everybody knows it. Nobody in any other game would be crazy enough to hire me. I wouldn't even make a good ditch-digger, I'd start tearing apart the sewer-system, trying to pick-axe and unearth all those chthonic symbols - pipes, valves, cloacal conduits... No, no. I'll have to be a slave in the paper-mines for all time.
We love each other, that’s true whatever it means, but we aren’t good at it; for some it’s a talent, for others only an addiction.
I've learned quite a lot, over the years, by avoiding what I was supposed to be learning.
Knowing too much about other people puts you in their power, they have a claim on you, you are forced to understand their reasons for doing things and then you are weakened.
You can find the entire cosmos lurking in its least remarkable objects.
We call them dumb animals, and so they are, for they cannot tell us how they feel, but they do not suffer less because they have no words.
The instant formal government is abolished, society begins to act. A general association takes place, and common interest produces common security.
Everything is good as it comes from the hands of the Maker of the world, but degenerates once it gets into the hands of man
One unerring mark of the love of truth is not entertaining any proposition with greater assurance than the proofs it is built upon will warrant.
A certain type of person strives to become a master over all, and to extend his force, his will to power, and to subdue all that resists it. But he encounters the power of others, and comes to an arrangement, a union, with those that are like him: thus they work together to serve the will to power. And the process goes on.
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