630 Quotes by Madeline Miller

I did not hear them. His presence was like a stone in my shoe, impossible to ignore.

I would still be with you. But I could sleep outside, so it would not be so obvious. I do not need to attend your councils. I—' 'No. The Phthians will not care. And the others can talk all they like. I will still be Aristos Achaion.' Best of the Greeks. 'Your honor could be darkened by it." 'Then it is darkened.' His jaw shot forward, stubborn. 'They are fools if they let my glory rise or fall on this.

Ich saß auf den Felsen und dachte an die Geschichten von Nymphen, die so lange weinten, bis sie zu Felsgestein wurden oder zu Kranichen, zu dümmlichen Kühen und zu dürren Bäumen, ihre Gedanken bis in alle Ewigkeit eingesperrt unter der Rinde. Doch wie es schien, gelang mir noch nicht einmal das. Ich war mein Leben eingesperrt, umschlossen von granitenen Wänden, die immer näher rückten.

The first good deed in your dissolute life. Aren’t you curious what it would feel like?”He laughed, but I did not press him further. He was still, always, an Olympian, still Zeus’ son. I was allowed license because it amused him, but I never knew when that amusement might end. You can teach a viper to eat from your hands, but you cannot take away how much it likes to bite.

He was no storyteller, as he had said, but that made it more enjoyable somehow, watching his serious face as he described flying horses and golden apples.

An ugly man, with a face sharp like a weasel and a habit of running a flickering tongue over his lips before he speaks. But most ugly of all are his eyes: blue, bright blue. When people see them, they flinch. Such things are freakish. He is lucky he was not killed at birth.

There was more to say, but for once we did not say it. There would be other times for speaking, tonight and tomorrow and all the days after that. He let go of my hand.

Achilles' eyes were bright in the firelight, his face drawn sharply by the flickering shadows. I would know is in dark or disguise, told myself. I would know it even in madness.

When he speaks at last, his voice is weary, and defeated. He doesn’t know how to be angry with me, either. We are like damp wood that won’t light.