Circe

by Madeline Miller

Every moment he was with me, I felt a rushing in my throat, which was my love for him, so great sometimes I could not speak.

Well? What do you have to say to me? You threw me to the crows, but it turns out I prefer them to you.

“Witches are not so delicate,” I said.

“Do you always make beautiful things for those you are angry with?” “No,” he said. “Only you.”

My divinity shines in me like the last rays of the sun before they drown in the sea. I thought once that gods are the opposite of death, but I see now they are more dead than anything, for they are unchanging, and can hold nothing in their hands.