"Last night I watched a young woman set fire to herself: a slim young woman, dressed in gauzy flammable robes. She was doing it as a protest against some injustice or other; but why did she think this bonfire she was making of herself would solve anything? Oh, don't do that, I wanted to say to her. Don't burn up your life. Whatever it's for, it's not worth it. But it was worth it to her, obviously." (p. 528)
"I worry about Sabrina, that way. What is she up to, over there at the ends of the earth? Has she been bitten by the Christians, or the Buddhists, or is there some other variety of bat inhabiting her belfry? Inasmuch as ye do it unto the least of these, ye do it unto Me. Are those the words on her passport to futility? Does she want to atone for the sins of her money-ridden, wrecked, deplorable family? I certainly hope not." (p. 528)
"...it was also renowned for its handicrafts, especially its weaving. The secrets of the dyes used by its artisans were carefully guarded: its cloth shone like liquid honey, like crushed purple grapes, like a cup of bull's blood poured out in the sun. Its delicate veils were as light as spiderwebs, and its carpets were so soft and fine you would think you were walking on air, an air made to resemble flowers and flowing water.
That's very poetic, she says. I'm surprised.
Think of it as a department store, he says. These were luxury trade goods, when you come right down to it. It's less poetic then.
The carpets were woven by slaves who were invariably children, because only the fingers of children were small enough for such intricate work. But the incessant close labour demanded of these children caused them to go blind by the age of eight or nine, and their blindness was the measure by which the carpet-sellers valued and extolled their merchandise: This carpet blinded ten children, they would say. This blinded fifteen, this twenty. Since the price rose accordingly, they always exaggerated. It was the custom for the buyer to scoff at their claims. Surely only seven, only twelve, only sixteen, they would say, fingering the carpet. It's coarse as a dishcloth. It's nothing but a beggar's blanket. It was made by a gnarr." (p. 27)
忘記是哪一天，我突然發現這個縣城有好多紡織廠，有好多小孩子安靜地做針線活；也忘記是哪一天，我突然想起The Blind Assassin第27頁的Sakiel-Norn（地點）有這樣的景象，有好多小孩子安靜地做針線活。書裡的與眼見的恍然重疊。
" 'I'm not sad,' I said, and began to cry. Sympathy from strangers can be ruinous." (p. 371)
Atwood, Margaret. (1982). The Blind Assassin. Virago Press.