Galatea Quotes

“You make the rarest canvas, love”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“The ocean floor was sandy and soft as pillows. I settled into it and slept.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“He had no chance, really. He was only flesh.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“Everyone looked at me, because I was the most beautiful woman in the town. I don’t say this to boast, because there is nothing in it to boast of. It was nothing I did myself.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“For millennia there have been men who react with horror and disgust to women's independence, men who desire women yet hate them, and who take refuge in fantasies of purity and control. What would it be like to live with such a man as your husband? There are too many today who could answer that. But that is the mark of a good source myth; it is water so wide it can reach across centuries.

I hope you enjoyed the swim.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“The door closed, and the room swelled around me like a bruise. When she was here, I could pretend it felt small because of her, but when she left the four wood walls seemed to press towards me, like lungs that had breathed in.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“It was dark, and there was only a little moon, which I took to mean that the goddess, if she existed, smiled on me.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“O goddess, if this is a dream, let me still sleep.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“I'm always this colour," I said. "Because I used to be made of stone.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“Water was not my element. It dragged at my clothes as I swam. A little farther, I told myself. I could hear him coming, his arms stronger than mine from a lifetime of lifting marble. I felt the water shiver near my foot where he had grabbed and almost caught me. I looked back, and saw how close he was and how far the shore behind. Then his hand seized my ankle and yanked, pulling me to him like a rope, hand over hand, and then he had me up and by the throat, his face pressed to mine.
I think he expected me to fight and claw. I didn’t fight. I seized him close around the ribs, holding my wrists so he could not get free. The sudden weight pulled us both under. He kicked and flailed back to the surface, but I was heavier than he had thought, and the waves slopped at our mouths. Let it be now, I prayed.
At first I thought it was just the cold of the water. It crept up my fingers and my arms, which stiffed around him. He struggled and fought, but my hands were fused together and nothing he tried could break them. Then it was in my legs too, and my belly and my chest, and no matter how he kicked, he could not haul us back up to the air. He hit at me, but it was watery and weak and I felt nothing, just the solid circle of my arms, and the inexorable drag of my body.
He had no chance, really. He was only flesh. We fell through the darkness, and the coolness slid up my neck and bled the color from my lips and cheeks. I thought of Paphos and how clever she was. I thought of her stone sister, peaceful on her couch. We fell through the currents and I thought of how the crabs would come for him, climbing over my pale shoulders. The ocean floor was sandy and soft as pillows. I settled into it and slept.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“And then he pressed his lips onto mine. “Live”, he said. “Oh live, my life, my love, live.”
And that’s when I’m supposed to open my eyes like a dewy fawn, and see him poised over me like the sun, and make a little gasping noise of wonder and gratitude, and then he fucks me.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“But I say this so that you understand what I was up against: that I was worth more to her sick than I was well.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“That’s the stone,” I said, “like I told you. It can’t get warm without sun. Haven’t you ever touched a statue?”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“The thing is, I don’t think my husband expected me to be able to talk. I don’t blame him for this exactly, since he had known me only as a statue, pure and beautiful and yielding to his art. Naturally, when he wished me to live, that’s what he wanted still, only warm so that he might fuck me.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“After, in the torchlight, he wondered at the marks on me, the red around my neck, and the purple on my arms and chest where he had gripped me. He rubbed at them, as though they were stains, not bruises. “The color is perfect,” he said, “look.” And he held up the mirror so I could see. “You make the rarest canvas, love.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“I felt him looking at me, admiring his work. He had not carved me like this, but he was imagining doing it. A beautiful statue, named The Supplicant.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“For millennia there have been men who react with horror and disgust to women’s independence, men who desire women yet hate them, and who take refuge in fantasies of purity and control.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea: A Short Story

“How is Paphos, my love?”
“Fine,” he said. Just that ugly, nothing word.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“I wanted to roll on the grass like a dog.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“A moment passed, and then I felt her hand on my back. You will be all right, she said. I have done it, and look, I live.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“I covered myself with my hands and made soft noises like a child. Blush, blush, I prayed. Blush for him, or he will kill you. And I was fortunate, for it was warm in the room, and I was angry, and ashamed too,”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“And that’s when I’m supposed to open my eyes like a dewy fawn, and see him poised over me like the sun, and make a little gasping noise of wonder and gratitude, and then he fucks me.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“Although the two women are different in many ways, their stories both center around transformation, on finding freedom for yourself in a world that denies it to you.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea: A Short Story

“But that is the mark of a good source myth; it is water so wide it can reach across centuries.
I hope you enjoyed the swim.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“Even more tellingly, she is not given a name—that was one of the few details I took from other sources. She is only called the woman. She is meant to be a compliant object of desire and nothing more.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea: A Short Story

“Still others (myself included) have been disturbed by the deeply misogynist implications of the story. Pygmalion’s happy ending is only happy if you accept a number of repulsive ideas: that the only good woman is one who has no self beyond pleasing a man, the fetishization of female sexual purity, the connection of the “snowy” ivory with perfection, the elevation of male fantasy over female reality.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea: A Short Story

“He frowned, pointing. “What is that?”
I looked down at my belly and saw the faint silvery tracks on my skin, caught in the light.
“My love, it is the sign of our child. Where the belly stretched.”
He stared. “How long have they been there?”
“Since she was born.” Then years ago now.
“They are ugly,” he said.
“I’m so sorry, my love. It is the same for all women.”
“If you were stone, I would chisel them off,” he said. Then he turned and left.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“Everyone looked at me, because I was the mostbeautiful woman in the town. I don’t say this to boast, because there isnothing in it to boast of. It was nothing I did myself.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea

“But that is the mark of a good source myth; it is water so wide it can reach across centuries. I hope you enjoyed the swim.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea: A Short Story

“As for Pygmalion, I accepted him exactly as Ovid made him. The term “incel” wasn’t in wide circulation when I wrote this, but Pygmalion is certainly a prototype.”
― Madeline Miller, Galatea: A Short Story