Quotes About Alexander

Maybe in the motto grotto?" Alexander suggested. No doubt he was still thinking of the Spooky Grotto of Tygers. Beowulf shook his head. "Not even a spotto of a motto." "Motto, notto," Cassiopeia concluded sadly.

Then he'd given Alexander the territories of Armenia, Media, and the unconquered empire of Parthia.

Methodius thought of how Homer and the holy prophet had been contemporaries, how Homer's poetic state had been larger than the state of Alexander of Macedonia. . . . He also thought of how Homer had at some point written into his work the name of Sidon. . . . in Sidon sat the prophet Elijah, who was to become an inhabitant of another poetic state, one as vast, eternal, and powerful as Homer's own — an inhabitant of the Holy Scriptures.

Those who claim that life begins at forty, they can't recall history, that Alexander became and died as the greatest without reaching this peak age. They also do not know those who die in their childhood.

politicians are the same, i.e. useless, whereas I obstinately cling to the hope that some are at least less useless than others.

The great impact of Hellenistic culture was, however, no in natural science, but in the more Plato-inspired imaginative literature. The modern novel has its origins in the ultra-heroic and fantastic literature of the Hellenistic world intellectually centered in Alexandria. The life of Alexander the Great was itself one of the prime genres of Hellenistic romanticized literature, and remained so into the sixteenth century.

Less than two centuries later, the Macedonian Greek Alexander the Great conquered Egypt, completing this task in a matter of months, but remaining long enough to found the city of Alexandria, whose site he selected in 331 BC at what was then the western mouth of the Nile delta. After this, in what appeared to be a characteristic act of hubris, but was in fact an attempt to win over the local priesthood, Alexander sacrificed to the sacred bull Apis and had himself crowned pharaoh.

But on that sunlit Sunday, Alexander knew nothing, thought nothing, imagined nothing. He forgot Dimitri and war and the Soviet Union and escape plans, and even America, and crossed the street for Tatiana Metanova.

Oh,to be walking through Leningrad white night after white night, the dawn to dusk all smelting together like platinum ore, Tatiana thought, turning away to the wall, again to the wall, the wall, as ever. Alexander, my nights, my days, my every thought. You will fall away from me in just a while, won't you, and I'll be whole again, and I will go on and feel for someone else, the way everyone does. But my innocence is forever gone.

Alexander smoked and watched her from his tree stump bench. What are you doing? she would ask him. Nothing, he would reply. Nothing but growing my pain into madness.

She was entrenched. She had dug a trench all around herself called Alexander , and she couldn't leave.

Tatiana was order. She was finite matter in infinite space. Tatiana was the standard-bearer for the flag of grace and valor that she carried forward with Bounty and perfection in herself, the flag Alexander had followed sixteen hundred kilometers east to the Kama River, to the Ural Mountains, to Lazarevo.

Through the smoke she could feel bodies around her. Hot and faint, she felt for them with her hands. The gunfire came from right outside the door, but when the lattice beam fell from the ceiling, all sounds faded away, all faded away, and there was no more fear. Only regret was left. Regret for Alexander.

All Alexander hears is his mother pleading, screaming, crying into the closed face of the consulate guard, as he keeps trying to pull her away, Please please please help him, we have money, a place to live, help him, help him, help him—

Ladies," Alexander said, his arm around Tatiana's neck, "we're newlyweds." He raised his eyebrows. "Do you really want us in your house?

The Jews in the crowd pushed Alexander forward to explain himself, and he motioned for silence so he could make his defense to the people.