The Testaments (The Handmaid's Tale, #2)

by Margaret Atwood

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and I took the one most travelled by. It was littered with corpses, as such roads are.

You don’t believe the sky is falling until a chunk of it falls on you.

Think of me as a guide. Think of yourself as a wanderer in a dark wood. It’s about to get darker.

When push comes to shove, only one’s own nightmares are of any interest or significance.

Still, I wanted to believe; indeed I longed to; and, in the end, how much of belief comes from longing?

The collective memory is notoriously faulty, and much of the past sinks into the ocean of time to be drowned forever; but once in a while the waters part, allowing us to glimpse a flash of hidden treasure, if only for a moment.