Mr.

“If you dare tell me he’s Odysseus’s son as if that’s some sacred charm, I will scream,” she answers, clear as the ringing of the hollow drum. “I will wail and rend my hair, the whole thing. So help me, Hera, I will do it.” Sweetheart, I whisper, I’m here for it. Many is the time my husband has returned from his frolics and I’ve turned on the waterworks, rent my garments, flung myself upon the ground and sworn that I shall die, scratched at my eyes, drawn blood from my celestial skin and beaten my fists against his chest. It doesn’t change his behaviour long-term, but at least I get to embarrass him some tiny, tiny fraction of the way he humiliates, demeans, dishonours and diswomans me. So you do the wailing; I’ll bring the olives.”
― Claire North, Ithaca

“I know that to say 'we'll see each other tonight,' up front, and with an exclamation point rather than a question mark, gives me more of a chance than 'are you free tonight?' In surprise, there's always a moment of hesitation; he knows that I know that it contains the possibility of his resorting to a lie, and that if he says no to me it isn't necessarily that he isn't free, but that he has decided as much, that he detected a hint of pathos in my voice, and doesn't want to come to its rescue; he only says yes when we share a common prescription; he is always the diagnostician of our relationship.”
― Hervé Guibert, Crazy for Vincent

“Why would anyone love a monster?' asked Perseus.
'Who are you to decide who is worthy of love?' said Hermes.
'I mean, I wasn't...'
'And who are you to decide who is a monster?' added the messenger god.”
― Natalie Haynes, Stone Blind: Medusa's Story

“As I soar through the salt-filled air, I let the rest of my tears fall, and when I open my eyes, it is to a cold sea, washing them away.”
― Natasha Bowen, Skin of the Sea