“You’ve seen the remnants of Troy and Mycenae in museums, as I have now. There was a Troy, and I think I was the real Achilles then, but ghosts forget. We need friends and descendants to recount our glories, speak our names, remind us of ourselves with prayers and sacrifices. After three thousand years, most of my contemporaries have lost even their names, since spirits forget our names as history forgets them. I remember myself mostly as Homer painted me, since that is how men know me now. Thus I am brought both to life and back to life, since I once walked this earth a breathing man, but
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