A postcard. Neat handwriting fills the rectangle. Half my days I cannot bear to touch you. The rest of my time I feel like it doesnโt matter if I will ever see you again. It isnโt the morality, itโs how much you can bear. No date. No name attached.
Michael OndaatjeWhen I read biographies, I skip the first thirty pages about the childhood because it doesn't seem interesting to me.
Michael OndaatjeI don't have a plan for a story when I sit down to write. I would get quite bored carrying it out.
Michael OndaatjeShe lights a match in the dark hall and moves it onto the wick of the candle. Light lifts itself onto her shoulders. She is on her knees. She puts her hands on her thighs and breathes in the smell of the sulphur. She imagines she slap breathes in light.
Michael OndaatjeEverything is biographical, Lucian Freud says. What we make, why it is made, how we draw a dog, who it is we are drawn to, why we cannot forget. Everything is collage, even genetics. There is the hidden presence of others in us, even those we have known briefly. We contain them for the rest of our lives, at every border we cross.
Michael Ondaatje