A Quote by Margaret Atwood

The young habitually mistake lust for love, they're infested with idealism of all kinds. — © Margaret Atwood
The young habitually mistake lust for love, they're infested with idealism of all kinds.
Love comforteth like sunshine after rain, But Lust's effect is tempest after sun; Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain, Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done; Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies; Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies.
Love is not lust. The two (love and lust) are poles apart. Love liberates while lust binds.
A lot of time we build on lust that becomes very strong. Yet, when that lust wears off we think that love is running out, but really it's the lust that had an expiration date. We have to know what real love is and if we're really in-love.
Tenderness and lust are just immature little brothers of love. Yes of course it was lust... but I'm not sure how evolved or resolved that lust was.
Youth is a period of idealism. The Communists attract young people by appealing directly to that idealism. Too often, others have failed either to appeal to it or to use it and they are the losers as a consequence. We have no cause to complain if, having neglected the idealism of youth, we see others come along, take it, and harness it to their cause - and against our own.
Love, which is lust, is the Lamp in the Tomb. Love, which is lust, is the Call from the Gloom. Love, which is lust, is the Main of Desire. Love, which is lust, is the Centric Fire. So man and woman will keep their trust, Till the very Springs of the Sea run dust. Yea, each with the other will lose and win, Till the very Sides of the Grave fall in. For the strife of Love's the abysmal strife, And the word of Love is the Word of Life. And they that go with the Word unsaid, Though they seem of the living, are damned and dead.
There can be no sexual love without lust; but, on the other hand, until the currents of lust in the organism have been irradiatedas to affect other parts of the psychic organism--at the least the affections and the social feelings--it is not yet sexual love. Lust, the specific sexual impulse, is indeed the primary and essential element in this synthesis, for it alone is adequate to the end of reproduction, not only in animals but in men. But it is not until lust is expanded and irradiated that it develops into the exquisite and enthralling flower of love.
There's a difference between lust and passionate love. Lust can't just creep in. You'll not find it where true love exists, but it has power enough to shatter the world you've worked so hard to create with love, and sometimes, it suddenly changes how you perceived love to begin with. Love then doesn't live there anymore.
Love makes the world go 'round, it's true, but lust stops the world in its tracks; love renders bearable the passage of time, lust causes time to stand still, lust kills time, which is not to say that it wastes it or whiles it aimlessly away but rather that it annihilates it, cancels it, extirpates it from continuum; preventing, while lasts, any lapse into the tense and shabby woes of temporal society, lust is the thousand-pound odometer needle on the dashboard of the absolute.
When sex becomes conscious it is love, it is no longer lust. Love brings freedom, and lust simply creates prisons for you.
I've been feeling everything. From hate to love. From love to lust. From lust to truth. I guess that's how I know you.
Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies; Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies
It is the difference betwixt lust and love that this is fixed, that volatile. Love grows, lust wastes by enjoyment.
Consider, for example, lust versus love. When we lust after someone or something, we think in terms of what they (or it) can do for us. When we love, however, our thoughts are immersed in what we can give to someone else. Giving makes us feel good, so we do it happily. But when we lust, we only want to take. When someone we love is in pain, we feel pain. When someone whom we lust is in pain, we only think in terms of what that loss or inconvenience means to us.
This isn’t lust. Lust wants, does the obvious Love is greedier. Love wants round-the-clock care; protection; rings, vows, joint accounts; scented candles on birthdays; life insurance. Babies. Love’s a dictator.
The one mistake which is committed habitually by people who have the gift of half-genius, is waiting for inspiration.
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