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My favourite quote is the entire three page dialogue between Circe and Odysseus when they first meet 😙

My favourite quotes from Circe by Madeline Miller

However gold he shines, do not forget his fire.

When we are young, we think ourselves the first to have each feeling in the world.

But when he turned to me, I felt the shock of that old love between us.

(..) Aeëtes’ face was calm, as if my father’s anger were only another thing in the room, a table, a stool.

I will not be like a bird bred in a cage, too dull to fly even when the door stands open.

For a hundred generations, I had walked the world drowsy and dull, idle and at my case. I left no prints, I did no deeds. Even those who loved me a little did not care to stay. Then I learned that I could bend the word to my will, as a bow is bent for an arrow. I would have done that toil a thousand times to keep such power in my hands. I thought: this is how Zeus felt when he first lifted the thunderbolt.

If my childhood had given me anything, it was endurance.

Yet because I knew nothing, nothing was beneath me.

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

But gods are born of ichor and nectar, their excellences already bursting from their fingertips. So they find their fame by proving what they can mar: destroying cities, starting wars, breeding plagues and monsters. All that smoke and savour rising so delicately from our altars. It leaves only ash behind. (..) I wanted to seize her by the shoulders. Whatever you do, I wanted to say, do not be too happy. It will bring down fire on your head. I said nothing, and let her dance.

A golden cage is still a cage.

None shrank and simpered as you did, and yet great Helios stepped on you all the faster, because you were already crouched at his feet.

‘They are not like us.’ / ‘I am not like you.’

But in a solitary life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth. Such a constellation was he to me.

It was not desire, not even its barest scrapings. It was a sort of rage, a knife I used upon myself. I did it to prove my skin was still my own.

Like a snake, the poets might say, but I knew snakes better by then. Give me the honest asp, who strikes me if I trouble him and not before.

When he was gone, would I be like Achilles, wailing over his lost lover Patroclus? I tried to picture myself running up and down the beaches, tearing at my hair, cradling some scrap of old tunic he had left behind. Crying out for the loss of half my soul. I could not see it. That knowledge brought its own sort of pain. But perhaps that is how it was meant to be.

Two children he had had, and he could not see either clearly. But perhaps no parent can truly see their child. When we look we see only the mirror of our own faults.

All the things he had done in life must now stand as they were.

The anger stood out plain and clean on his face. There was a sort of innocence to him, I thought. I do not mean this as the poets mean it: a virtue to be broken by the story’s end, or else upheld at greatest cost. Nor do I mean he was foolish or guileless. I mean that he was made of only himself, without the dregs that clog the rest of us. He thought and felt and acted, and all these things made a straight line. No wonder his father had been so baffled by him. He would have been always looking for the hidden meaning, the knife in the dark. But Telemachus carried his blade in the open.

Amusement flashed in his eyes. I had fed off that look once, when I was starving and thought such crumbs a feast.

He took my hand. The gesture was like a bard’s. But were we not in a sort of song? This was the refrain we had practiced so often.

I had been old and stern for so long, filled with regrets and years like a monolith. But that was only a shape I had been poured into. I did not have to keep it.

Circe, he says, it will be alright. It is not the saying of an oracle or a prophet. They are words you might speak to a child. (..) I listen to his breath, warm upon the night air, and somehow I am comforted. He does not mean that it does not hurt. He does not mean that we are not frightened. Only that: we are here. This is what it means to swim in the tide, to walk the earth and feel it touch your feet. This is what it means to be alive.

Overhead the constellations dip and wheel. My divinity shines like the last days 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.

All my life, I have been moving forward, and now I am here. I have a mortal’s voice, let me have the rest. I lift the brimming bowl to my lips and drink.

“i could recognise him by touch alone, by smell; i would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. i would know him in death, at the end of the world”

These men..... ❤️

“He smiled, and his face was like the sun.”

— Madeline Miller

Been thinking about Vashwood and Song of Achilles parallels

the progress of reading The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

Just finished Circe by Madeline Miller and OMG!!! OMFG!

It's beautifully written. But that ending? WOW.

As a Telemachas lover and Odysseus hater this has me finished. Dead. Done. Buried.

Everyone should be allowed to wear their boyfriend's clothes, except for Patroclus. That guy should be kept far away from anything cloth or armor that has ever brushed even an inch of Achilles.

for a hundred generations, i had walked the world drowsy and dull, idle and at my ease. i left no prints, i did no deeds. even those who had loved me a little did not care to stay.

guys!!!!!! i’m already crying

what got you into greek mythology: an alignment chart

Greek mythology-related books that you need to read ASAP:

Darkness becomes her by Kelly keaton

Daughter of Sparta by Claire Andrew

The graces by laure Eve

Till We have faces by C.S. Lewis *

Circe by Madeline Miller

Lore by Alexandra Bracken

Fifteen Dogs by Andrè Alexis

The song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

The lighting thief by Rick Riordan

Mythos by Stephen Fry

(Add more in the comment section! 🍇🏛️)

*Is actually inspired from Roman mythology but there is also Eros and Psyche in greek mythology too so I decided to add it.

I would know him in death, at the end of the world.

— The Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller

Not the sun! Apollo after all is the one who loosened Patroclus’ armour, leading to his death. There are other things.

Achilles’ face could be as bright as the waves of the sea on the first day of summer, his smile as wide as the greek army was numerous. His eyes can be as joyful as a child getting their first taste of grownup freedom.

Achilles can be as sweet as the melodies he plays on Patroclus’ mother’s lyre, but he will never be like the sun.

The sun, it is true, is warm and we enjoy its presence. But we can not stare at it for too long, nor approach it. Meanwhile, Patroclus spent almost every hour looking at Achilles, admiring his features like an art expert would look at a rare piece. He embraced and touched Achilles as much as he could.

Achilles was indeed like the center of Patroclus’ world, but he was never scorching, and never violent towards Patroclus.

The sight of Achilles reassured Patroclus at night, and after sunset was the moment when they could let go of their facade and be fully lovers again.

Therefore, i think that Achilles, for Patroclus, was not the sun.

Achilles was his moon.

thinking of achilles and patroclus finally meeting in elysium after thetis marks his name on their grave;

achilles jumps at him and presses his nose against his like he used to in their youth. patroclus holds him, and achilles hides his face on his chest and sobs profusely. achilles cries and cries and cries, asking for forgiveness. patroclus just holds him close, reassuringly, "there's nothing to forgive"— and how could there be? achilles' love for him was so big that it even made the gods fearful. achilles finally looks at him, with tears in his eyes.

he smiled at me, and his face was like the sun.

after “The Song of Achilles” by Madeline Miller (warning: violence)

Heliotropic soul who smells of spring.

Sunshine hair with gold-leafed summer irises,

Bright, shining from alabaster flesh.

Chiseled hands over carved wood,

Sinew-plucked strings.

They would never draw blood.

Winter is a minimalist,

Warmed by our roseate love,

Thawed anew.

•witchcraft•

🍃🪄

ARE WE ALL HAVING AND READING THE SAME POSTS?????????

@sunshines-child Sunny, you're my four moot who has the same problem as me

I'm going f feral, i'm so done wirh people's willing ignorance, i like Circe's book (not all but I have my motives), but I hate people that come up with the book as their basis and attack or ignore the Homeric works, I'm so fed up, I made a post a put a link in my Master post, cause I'm tired of wirting extensive posts, and next comment is something along, Odysseus sucks, what a cheater.............

I'm letting Troy burn again but with ones inside 🔥🔥🔥

istg if i see ONE more person go "Odysseus is this horrible yada yada" (he's morally grey jesus christ) because the only shit they've read is Circe by Madeline Miller i'm going to lose it. DO YOU KNOW WHAT A RETELLING IS!????? RETELLING. y'know, the word with the literal dictionary definition of "tell a story again or differently"

(Spoilers for the Song of Achilles)

Someone’s probably already said this but in The Song Of Achilles, Achilles dies because of an arrow to the heart. And that one moment hit me like a truck because I’d always been taught that Achilles dies because of the wound in his heel, his one weakness on an otherwise invulnerable body.

But it made so much more sense when you think backwards. Achilles’ destiny is tied to the war. If he chooses to fight, he’ll have glory and honor but a short life and painful death. If he chooses to stand aside, he watches his people die but lives a long, peaceful life. And everything about the Iliad suggests that Achilles is perfectly fine with a slow, quiet life with Patroclus. Until Patroclus takes it into his own hands and chooses to fight in Achilles’ place, and dies. Then, and only then, does Achilles seize his destiny. And in that his fate is sealed.

Achilles is killed by his greatest weakness: his heart. He may have had a heartbeat for quite a long time after Patroclus died, but Achilles’ heart was broken the moment they brought his body home.

So it makes sense that his greatest weakness, perhaps his only weakness, was his love. And that ties back to what I said in my other post about Orpheus and Eurydice. Like so many others, maybe Achilles doesn’t want to be remembered for his glory in battle.

Let me be remembered for my love. (My lover, my art, my home, my life)

Still brewing on whether or not Odysseus falls into this category. We shall see.

(I'm not one for planning things out so this sketch page is rare for me) anyways, patrochilles! (not tragic, just lyres)✨️🏺

Circe by Madeline Miller

Circe by Madeleine Miller