630 Quotes by Madeline Miller

The never-ending ache of love and sorrow.

Exile might satisfy the anger of the living, but it did not appease the dead.

The spells hung on us yet I felt weightless.

For sixteen years, I had been holding up the sky, and he had not noticed. I should have forced him to go with me to pick those plants that saved his life. I should have made him to stand over the stove while I spoke the words of power. He should understand all I had carried in silence, all that I had done for his safekeeping.

I was a golden witch, who had no past at all.

I had not fooled myself with false hope. I was a goddess, and he was a mortal, and both of us were imprisoned. But I pressed his face into my mind, as seals are pressed in wax, so I could carry it with me.

He knew, but it was not enough. The sorrow was so large it threatened to tear through my skin. When he died, all things swift and beautiful and bright would be buried with him.

Within him, there was an ocean's worth of grief; which could only be stopped for a moment, never emptied.

The word I use is hubris. Our word for arrogance that scrapes the stars, for violence and towering rage as ugly as the gods.