“Old lovers go the way of old photographs, bleaching out gradually as in a slow bath of acid: first the moles and pimples, then the shadings. Then the faces themselves, until nothing remains but the general outlines.”
More from Margaret Atwood
“Pray for us, who once, too, thought we could fly.”
“Every love story is a tragedy if you wait long enough.”
“In this house, little things mean everything.”
“I should be ashamed of myself to take such delight in the suffering of others.”