Madeline Miller

    meiraцитує2 роки тому
    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.
    meiraцитує2 роки тому
    When he died, all things swift and beautiful and bright would be buried with him.
    meiraцитує2 роки тому
    He is half of my soul, as the poets say. He will be dead soon
    “I’m going to be the first.” He took my palm and held it to his. “Swear it.”

    “Why me?”

    “Because you’re the reason. Swear it.”
    He collects my ashes himself, though this is a woman’s duty. He puts them in a golden urn, the finest in our camp, and turns to the watching Greeks.

    “When I am dead, I charge you to mingle our ashes and bury us together.”
    Naomi Soteloцитуєторік
    Feel how chilled your hands are?’
    Blanca Estela Hernández Abrahamцитуєторік
    Humbling women seems to me a chief pastime of poets. As if there can be no story unless we crawl and weep.
    Nast Huertaцитуєминулого місяця
    Daedalus had guessed well: that I would like the whole business of it, the simplicity and skill at once, the smell of the wood, the shush of the shuttle, the satisfying way weft stacked upon weft. It was a little like spell-work, I thought, for your hands must be busy, and your mind sharp and free. Yet my favourite part was not the loom at all, but the making of the dyes. I went hunting for the best colours, madder root and saffron, the scarlet kermes insect and the wine-dark murex from the sea, and alum powder to hold them fast in the wool. I squeezed them, pounded, soaked them in great bubbling pots until the stinking liquids foamed up bright as flowers: crimson and crocus yellow and the deep purple that princes wear.
    “If you have to go, you know I will go with you.” We slept.
    e is not worthy of you,” she said. “He has never been.”
    “We disagree on this,” Achilles answered.
Перетягніть файли сюди, не більш ніж 5 за один раз