41 Quotes by Margaret Atwood about Love
- Author Margaret Atwood
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I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary.
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- Author Margaret Atwood
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How could I be sleeping with this particular man.... Surely only true love could justify my lack of taste.
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- Author Margaret Atwood
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Of course (said Oryx), having a money value was no substitute for love. Every child should have love, every person should have it. . . . but love was undependable, it came and then it went, so it was good to have a money value, because then at least those who wanted to make a profit from you would make sure you were fed enough and not damaged too much. Also there were many who had neither love nor a money value, and having one of these things was better than having nothing.
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- Author Margaret Atwood
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Hatred would have been easier. With hatred, I would have known what to do. Hatred is clear, metallic, one-handed, unwavering; unlike love.
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- Author Margaret Atwood
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A truth should exist,it should not be usedlike this. If I love youis that a fact or a weapon?
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- Author Margaret Atwood
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Love blurs your vision; but after it recedes, you can see more clearly than ever. It's like the tide going out, revealing whatever's been thrown away and sunk: broken bottles, old gloves, rusting pop cans, nibbled fishbodies, bones. This is the kind of thing you see if you sit in the darkness with open eyes, not knowing the future. The ruin you've made.
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- Author Margaret Atwood
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She imagines him imagining her. This is her salvation.In spirit she walks the city, traces its labyrinths, its dingy mazes: each assignation, each rendezvous, each door and stair and bed. What he said, what she said, what they did, what they did then. Even the times they argued, fought, parted, agonized, rejoined. How they’d loved to cut themselves on each other, taste their own blood. We were ruinous together, she thinks. But how else can we live, these days, except in the midst of ruin?
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- Author Margaret Atwood
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Can I be blamed for wanting a real body, to put my arms around? Without it I too am disembodied. I can listen to my own heartbeat against the bedsprings...but there’s something dead about it, something deserted.
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- Author Margaret Atwood
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The Eskimo has fifty-names for snow because it is important to them; there ought to be as many for love.
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