Circe

by Madeline Miller

Bold action and bold manner are not the same.

“There is no single answer. They are each different. The only thing they share is death. You know the word?” “I know it,” I said. “But I do not understand.” “No god can. Their bodies crumble and pass into earth. Their souls turn to cold smoke and fly to the underworld. There they eat nothing and drink nothing and feel no warmth. Everything they reach for slips from their grasp.” A chill shivered across my skin. “How do they bear it?” “As best they can.”

Each spell was a mountain to be climbed anew. All I could carry with me from last time was the knowledge that it could be done.

But then there are those who wear their destinies like nooses, whose lives run straight as planks, however they try to twist. It is these that our prophets may see.

A golden cage is still a cage.

Now that Medea had named my loneliness, it hung from everything, clinging like spiderwebs, unavoidable.

“You have always been the worst of my children,” he said. “Be sure you do not dishonor me.” “I have a better idea. I will do as I please, and when you count your children, leave me out.”