Circe

by Madeline Miller

My father has never been able to imagine the world without himself in it.

Beneath the smooth, familiar face of things is another that waits to tear the world in two.

thought was this: that all my life had been murk and depths, but I was not a part of that dark water. I was a creature within it.

I had a wild thought there, beneath that sky. I will eat these herbs. Then whatever is truly in me, let it be out, at last. I brought them to my mouth. But my courage failed. What was I truly? In the end, I could not bear to know.

Every moment mortals died, by shipwreck and sword, by wild beasts and wild men, by illness, neglect, and age. It was their fate, as Prometheus had told me, the story that they all shared. No matter how vivid they were in life, no matter how brilliant, no matter the wonders they made, they came to dust and smoke. Meanwhile every petty and useless god would go on sucking down the bright air until the stars went dark.

The fame she had described was what all mortals yearn for. It is their only hope of immortality.