Margaret Atwood Quotes

All we really want in life is to connect to other human beings, and when you desperately want to connect physically to one specific human being and you can't? That's something I find compelling.

Rose Hathaway: "Was he right?” Dimitri Belikov: "Who?” Rose Hathaway: "Victor…he said it couldn't have worked. The necklace.” Dimitri Belikov: "What do you mean?” Rose Hathaway: "The spell. Victor said you had to want me…to care about me…for it to work. Did you? Did you want me?” Dimitri Belikov: "Yes, Roza. I did want you. I still do. I wish…we could be together.” (Vampire Academy)

Yes, Roza. I did want you. I still do. I wish... we could be together. -Dimitri to Rose on their relationship

Seek and Hide: the Lover gazes at the Beloved. The Beloved looks away. The Beloved turns and looks at the Lover. The Lover runs away.

Cause the sweetest kiss I ever got is the one I've never tasted

For three months, a person sits and looks at you, imagining a kiss.

One writes because one has been touched by the yearning for and the despair of ever touching the Other.

it is my lady! *sighs* o, it is my love! o, that she knew she were! she speaks, yet she sais nothing. what of that? her eye discourses; i will answer it. i am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks; two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, having some business, do entreat her eyes to twinkle in their spheres till they return.

My playing had called to another human being at last. Surely, she could be no other than my own true love. Slowly, I got to my feet. Speak to me, I thought. And as if she'd heard me, the young woman's lips parted and she spoke thus: Have you lost your mind?

Moon, moon, when you leave me alone all the darkness is an utter blackness, a pit of fear, a stench, hands unreasonable never to touch. But I love you. Do you love me. What to say when you see me.

I wish that I was looking into your eyes

Thoughts of the girl crashed around his mind, made him remember the connection he felt. A sadness washed over him, as if he missed her, wanted to see her. That doesn't make sense, he thought. I don't even know her name.

My love runs by like a day in June, And he makes no friends of sorrows. He'll tread his galloping rigadoon In the pathway of the morrows. He'll live his days where the sunbeams start, Nor could storm or wind uproot him. My own dear love, he is all my heart, -- And I wish somebody'd shoot him.

I had always been in love with him. I counted the lashes of each closed eye. He had been my almost, my might have been, and I did not want to leave him

I felt ravaged, and with both hands in a fantasy I reached out for her figure as we ran together through the meadow which belonged only to us and to which these others could never be admitted."Oh, inocent love," she said even as she drank from me, "oh, innocent innocent love."

Sometimes, language is the sound of longing

I stare to memorize your face, to kiss you in my mind, love you all the time.

Here is the most telling fact: you wish to possess me.
 Here is another fact: I loved you and let you think you could.

It is better to desire than to enjoy, to love than to be loved.

In my room I'd barely closed my eyes when the blonde from the movie house came along and sang her whole song of sorrow just for me. I helped her put me to sleep, so to speak, and succeeded pretty well... I wasn't entirely alone... It's not possible to sleep alone.

I loved him so much. It didn't change all the reasons we couldn't be together, but it kept me returning to his body, kept my skin seeking his skin over and over again in the sad dance we did.

There was sex, of course. Nakedness. Wall to wall, in and out of my thoughts. But when it was over it was her whispering voice I craved, and a human curled up in my arms.

Until then, mio dolce amor, a thousand kisses; but give me none in return, for they set my blood on fire.

To the lover the loved one always appears as solitary.

She fell asleep, lying there, her hand clasping his. Her last awareness, before she surrendered the responsibility of consciousness, was the sense of an enormous void, the void of a city and of a continent, where she would never be able to find the man whom she had no right to seek.