Quotes from Madeline Miller

I lifted my hand in blessing and gave my son to the world.

I loved this about him. No matter how many times I asked, he answered me as if it were the first time.

It had never truly been anger, only fear and sorrow.

And the gods would do nothing. Think of all the prayers they would get.

If he turned gray, then he did. I would not go on anymore weaving my cloths by day and unraveling them again at night, making nothing.

The dying light was in his hair, and his face was sweet with evening.

But gods are born of ichor and nectar, their excellences already bursting from their fingertips.

I stopped watching for ridicule, the scorpion's tail hidden in his words. He said what he meant,; he was puzzled if you did not. Some people might have mistaken this for simplicity. But is it not a sort of genius to cut always to the heart?

I thought once that gods are the opposite of death, but I see now they are more dead than anything, for they are unchanging, and can hold nothing in their hands. All my life I have been moving forward, and now I am here. I have a mortal's voice, let me have the rest. I lift the brimming bowl to my lips and drink.

I am made of memories. The memories come, and come. We are all there, goddess and mortal and the boy who was both.

I wanted to seize her by the shoulders. Whatever you do, I wanted to say, do not be too happy. It will bring down fire on your head.

A word of power." "Will you teach it to me?" "Sorcery cannot be taught. You find it yourself, or you do not.

He did not gleam like gold. He was not polished and perfect. But he was the same all the way through, like a block of marble cut whole from a quarry P.196

Aquiles solloza. Me acuna, no come ni pronuncia otra palabra que no sea mi nombre. Contemplo su rostro como si lo viera a través del agua, igual que un pez observa el sol. Vierte una catarata de lágrimas, pero yo no puedo enjugárselas. Este es mi elemento ahora: la media vida de un espíritu insepulto.

You see?" I said, when I was finished with the tale. "Gods are ugly things." "We are not our blood," he answered. "A witch once told me that.

It was one of my favorite things about him, how he admired the world like a jewel, turning its facets to catch the light. A

He is half my soul as the poets say. I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell. I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.

Grabé su rostro en mi mente, como se graban los sellos sobre la cera, para poder llevarlo siempre conmigo».

I would untie him if I could. If he would let me.

He did not thank Medea for her aid; he scarcely looked at her. As if a demigoddess saving him at every turn was only his due.

But there was something in me that was sick of fear and awe, of gazing at the heavens and wondering what someone would allow me.

Contemplé su noble rostro; noble no por su belleza, sino porque, como el buen metal, había sido templado y golpeado hasta volverse fuerte.

But he was a harp with only one string, and the note he played was himself.

When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.