The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence Quotes

“What is it about beauty, I wondered one day, squinting at a bit of embroidery, which makes men think they have the right to desire you? That beauty means you automatically agree, somehow, to be coveted, to be desired? That your beauty belongs to everyone?”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“How dare you," I said. "How dare you give away the rights to my body, as though they are yours to give! How dare you make this devil's bargain, this whore's bargain, and not even consult me as to my wishes, my desires!”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“Maybe it would be for the best," I said. "Perhaps it would be better for everyone if I did not live to have my beauty fade.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“Even when I could not see him, I still felt his eyes on me, caressing and brushing against my flesh. My skin hummed. When I left that day, I felt somehow drained but exhilarated as well, as though we had made love without touching.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“The air between us felt heavy, laden with so many words that we could not say, that we wanted to say but knew we must not.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“Jealousy, hot and thick, exploded within me and dripped down my insides, giving the feeling that my innards were coated in hot wax.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“He gestured toward the easel where it was situated, and I gasped. It was like looking into a mirror. He had captured me, absolutely: the fabric and design of the pale blue gown I wore when I sat for him; the line of my long neck; the pale shade of my skin; the exact shape of my nose, my lips, my chin; the exact texture of my wavy hair, though in the portrait he had painted it into an elaborate, Grecian style. The look in my eyes was a serious one, almost studious, and I realised that this was how I had looked all along, staring back at him, studying him even as he studied me.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“It occurred to me at that moment that if I was a painter, if I had even the slightest notion of how to mix these colors, this would be the scene I would paint: the muddy brown of the Arno and the reddish tile of the roofs and the emerald of the hills and the fathomless blue of the sky, blue as Virgin's robes.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“I know that there are some in this world about whom that is true, but I like to think that there are those who will act on the side of right, of justice, no matter what. Even if there is no one to applaud their actions, or to condemn them for doing wrong.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“He really was quite handsome, I realized, yet in a different way from Marco's dark yet buoyant charm, or Giuliano de' Medici's gilded, godlike perfection. His features were strong, chiseled, as though they'd been cut from marble; his blond hair tumbled in unruly waves about his face, threatening to curl at the ends. Several times as he drew, he would life his other hand to brush his hair off his face, only to have it fall back again. And his eyes, his eyes that saw and sought to reproduce so much truth and beauty, were of a lovely light colour. Green, perhaps? Or hazel? They seemed to change with the light, with his emotions, with his thoughts.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“Soon, once the initial awkwardness had passed, I felt myself reveling in his gaze, enjoying it. But I could not quite say why. Surely there was no shortage of men who wished to--and did--look at me. Yet there was something very different about this. Botticelli did not wish to possess me, as men who looked upon we with desire might. His study of me went deeper than that, deeper than flesh and skin and beauty and even desire; his gaze went right to my soul, as if only in rendering me on the page--and later the canvas--in perfect accuracy could he come to understand what was within. And, perhaps, reveal it to me.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“Had Dante had you as his muse instead of Beatrice, he would have been an even greater poet," he said. "And that, Madonna Simonetta, is both fact and flattery.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“Perhaps beauty is the only truth we need," he went on. "And it is to be found everywhere: in nature, in learning, in the Church, and in the accomplishments of man: the written word, the painted canvas.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“Relief flooded me, that I need not worry that this Lucrezia had any designs on my husband--with a husband and lover of her own already, she surely had no time to contend with one more man. This relief was quickly replaced by guilt, however--that my release should be my friend's sorrow.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“I wandered back into the dressing room and sat before the dressing table. My reflection looked wan, tired. It was indeed a strange day, preceded by a strange night. I studied myself carefully, wondering if becoming a married woman evoked some sort of change in my visage. Yet other than weariness, I looked the same as I always had.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“Botticelli's painting of Judith lingered in my mind's eye, and I felt that same surge of longing, of curiosity, to see how he might portray me. To see how he saw me, in ways that perhaps I had never seen myself.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“It is courtly love, nothing more. It is all the rage amongst my husband and his set. They write words of love and worship to the most beautiful women they can find. It is chase enough--" She paused, then took a deep breath. "Usually, it is."
"And so what is my role in all this?" I asked her, feeling like a gauche, unsophisticated child. "Am I to write back, to respond? Should I tell Marco?"
Clarice laughed. "Dear Simonetta, your role--as near as I have been able to tell in observing such games--is to simply be adored, and to enjoy yourself. Revel in it!" She grinned. "Indeed, you had best ready yourself to be so adored by every man in Florence.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“Mark my words, Simonetta Cattaneo--the Florentine women never forget what game it is they are playing, and they know the rules as well as they know their catechism. So beware.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“I warmed to the new topic instantly, describing for my new friend the bustling, busy port; the way the sun sparkled and shimmered on the sea; the way the sun set into the sea each night, bathing the water and the buildings in a brilliantly coloured glow.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“I confess I have never been able to count many female friends--I suppose for jealousy. Though God in His wisdom has given me a face and form that many consider beautiful, there have been times when I wished that He bestowed His blessings--if indeed it is--on someone else."
Clarice laughed. "And so beauties of the world pray to be plain, and the plain girls pray for beauty.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“I did not agree, nor make any promises as to my cooperation, I had said to Marco. But, later that night, I remembered that strange intimate look that had passed between the painter and myself, that odd and unbidden moment of accord, and knew that my words had not been quite true.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“Walking behind them, I took a moment just to enjoy the feel of the book in my hands. It was bound in coarse leather, and the paper was thin; it was not as fine as some volumes I had glimpsed on the shelves. Yet it mattered not at all. To hold a book, any book, in one's hands, to smell the leather and the paper and feel the smooth pages beneath one's fingers, to anticipate the pleasures contained within, was a gift and a blessing. I could not resist the temptation of opening it and reading a few lines of the first poem. Yet before I could get any further, we had returned to the courtyard where the evening had begun, and I could read no more. In spite of such illustrious company, however, I could not help but wish that I might take myself off to a chair in a corner and devour the entire volume in one sitting, so entranced had I been by just the few lines I had read. From the smile that Lorenzo gave me when he saw me clutching the book tightly, protectively, lovingly, I knew that he, at least, understood.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“I quickly forced myself to recover. That monks with their nun mistresses should be so openly spoken of--that a monk should use his mistress as a model for the Virgin, no less--was something else I must accustom myself to about this Florence, it seemed. Was this what my father sought to warn mr of, when we arrived in the city? I wondered. Yet since Lorenzo clearly thought nothing of the tale, nor did Marco seem all scandalized, I knew I must master myself. I stepped closer to the portrait. "She is quite beautiful," I said softly, studying the figure that Lorenzo had identified as Lucrezia Buti.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“And would the punishment from God that surely awaited this woman be worth what she had gained in return: being immortalized in such a work of art?
Still, I thought, in spite of myself, in a place I did not think I would ever share with anyone, it is a terribly romantic tale.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“I followed the two men to the door of the chapel, but before I left I felt my eyes drawn back tot the altarpiece again, and to the face of the woman so beautiful she had made a man forswear his vow to God. Was such beauty a gift or a curse?”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“He paused as he continued to contemplate my face, yet not with the avaricious desire with which men usually studied it; nor with the envious, calculating gaze of most women. Rather, he considered my face as though he would solve the puzzle of how I was so beautiful. "I should like to paint you," he said finally.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“Is it not amazing how two people can stand side by side and look at the same work and see two different things?”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“I knew that I would never remember so many names, nor which names went with which faces. But perhaps that is one advantage of beauty, I realized, my lips curling into what seemed to be a mysterious smile. A new sense of boldness flooded through me. These men would be falling all over themselves to remind me of their names, and with pleasure, so long as I engaged in conversation with them for a brief moment. I had been told all my life--subtly and not so subtly--that beauty was a weapon, a tool, a source of power--sometimes the only one available to a woman. Yet it was not until that first evening among the Medici that I began to consider--rather innocently--how I might use it as such.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“My jaw felt a bit tight from smiling so much, from appreciating the same compliment over and over again, no matter how sincerely it was meant.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli

“Lucrezia, the formidable Medici matriarch, surprised me somewhat. She was quite tall, with her brown hair--a few shades darker than Clarice's--pinned up modestly. Her face, however, was serene and inviting, much like paintings of the Madonna I had seen. Yet I knew that she was as able a politician and businesswoman as her husband--perhaps more so, some said. I also remembered a remark made in passing by Marco's father that the Medici matriarch was an accomplished poet, and had penned many lovely devotional verses.”
― Alyssa Palombo, The Most Beautiful Woman in Florence: A Story of Botticelli