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“That is — your friend?"
"Philtatos," Achilles replied, sharply. Most beloved.”
― The Song of Achilles
"Philtatos," Achilles replied, sharply. Most beloved.”
― The Song of Achilles
“We were like gods at the dawning of the world, & our joy was so bright we could see nothing else but the other.”
― The Song of Achilles
― The Song of Achilles
“Everything about Andrew was hot, from the hands holding him down to the mouth steadily taking Neil apart. Neil finally understood why his mother thought this was so dangerous.”
― The King's Men
― The King's Men
“I room with Louisa. Louisa is older and her hair is like a red-and-gold noisy ocean down her back. There's so much of it, she can't even keep it in with braids or buns or scrunchies. Her hair smells like strawberries; she smells better than any girl I've ever known. I could breathe her in forever.
My first night here, when she lifted her blouse to change for bed, in the moment before that crazy hair fell over her body like a protective cape, I saw them, all of them, and I sucked my breath in hard.
She said, "Don't be scared, little one."
I wasn't scared. I'd just never seen a girl with skin like mine.”
― Girl in Pieces
My first night here, when she lifted her blouse to change for bed, in the moment before that crazy hair fell over her body like a protective cape, I saw them, all of them, and I sucked my breath in hard.
She said, "Don't be scared, little one."
I wasn't scared. I'd just never seen a girl with skin like mine.”
― Girl in Pieces
“I will never leave him. It will be this, always, for as long as he will let me.
If I had had words to speak such a thing, I would have. But there were none that seemed big enough for it, to hold that swelling truth.
As if he had heard me, he reached for my hand. I did not need to look; his fingers were etched into my memory, slender and petal-veined, strong and quick and never wrong.
“Patroclus,” he said. He was always better with words than I.”
― The Song of Achilles
If I had had words to speak such a thing, I would have. But there were none that seemed big enough for it, to hold that swelling truth.
As if he had heard me, he reached for my hand. I did not need to look; his fingers were etched into my memory, slender and petal-veined, strong and quick and never wrong.
“Patroclus,” he said. He was always better with words than I.”
― The Song of Achilles
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