The Handmaid's Tale

by Margaret Atwood

To be seen—to be seen—is to be—her voice trembled—penetrated.

When we think of the past it's the beautiful things we pick out. We want to believe it was all like that.

We thought we had such problems. How were we to know we were happy?

I have them, these attacks of the past, like faintness, a wave sweeping over my head.

We lived, as usual, by ignoring. Ignoring isn't the same as ignorance, you have to work at it.

The body is so easily damaged, so easily disposed of, water and chemicals is all it is, hardly more to it than a jellyfish, drying on sand.

I believe there can be no light without shadow; or rather, no shadow unless there is also light.

Who knows, your very flesh may be polluted, dirty as an oily beach, sure death to shore birds and unborn babies.

remember that forgiveness too is a power. To beg for it is a power, and to withhold or bestow it is a power, perhaps the greatest.

You can't help what you feel, Moira once said, but you can help how you behave.

Better never means better for everyone, he says. It always means worse, for some.

But look at the stats, my dear. Was it really worth it, falling in love?

There's always something to occupy the inquiring mind.

Falling in love, we said; I fell for him. We were falling women. We believed in it, this downward motion: so lovely, like flying, and yet at the same time so dire, so extreme, so unlikely.

Maybe you would be able to work it out together, as if the two of you were a puzzle that could be solved; otherwise, one of you, most likely the man, would go wandering off on a trajectory of his own, taking his addictive body with him and leaving you with bad withdrawal,

Everything that went on in your life was thought to be due to some positive or negative power emanating from inside your head.