Wrath Goddess Sing Quotes

“She loved Patroklos, she loved Meryapi, and it had nothing to do with desire, only joy—to see them was joy; to breathe with them was joy; to ride with Patroklos on a cattle raid was joy; scanning the pines for ambush was joy; holding the shield to protect them from Anyasha’s arrows was joy. If she failed, they would die together, and that too was joy.”
― Maya Deane, Wrath Goddess Sing

“Achilles said. “I assume he is a famous warrior. But I am more interested in peace than war. War seems like a wonderful way to make everyone poor and miserable, to increase the share of orphans, to promote superstitions, to waste a lot of good bronze that could be used for tools, to ruin the soil, to kill perfectly good cart-horses pulling chariots, and so on.”
― Maya Deane, Wrath Goddess Sing

“And it would be death -- the death of her self, the inexorable corrosion of her soul, until even her name was forgotten and nothing was left but the shell of a man she never was.”
― Maya Deane, Wrath Goddess Sing

“I am a quarrelsome, troublesome woman.”
― Maya Deane, Wrath Goddess Sing

“It took her a moment to realize how little she had actually told Diomedes about her Myrmidon kinsmen from Phthia, the rough men who loved her father and marched under the sign of the ant—she had only told him that they had called her a bottom and a whore.”
― Maya Deane, Wrath Goddess Sing

“The final betrayal would come from the original traitor, her own body. Odysseus would not dare strip a woman to prove her a boy, but once Damia revealed her, she would no doubt be held down and stripped of her tunic and underclothes, and the miserable dangling appendage that no treatment of herbs could remove would be her undoing. Odysseus’s pleasant ignorance would be more deadly than Kheiron’s cruelty. On the journey to Agamemnon’s army, she would have none of the herbs that had spared her the indignities of manhood, and the process would resume. Hair would sprout on her chest and shoulders and back as it had on Odysseus; a beard would follow; she would lose the fiery curls on her head; she would stink like a bull; her skin would roughen and bulge with veins; it would be worse than death.”
― Maya Deane, Wrath Goddess Sing