Patroclus, he says, Patroclus. Patroclus. Over and over until it is sound only.

When I am dead, I charge you to mingle our ashes and bury us together.

Achilles weeps. He cradles me, and will not eat, nor speak a word other than my name.

The difference between being Achilles and almost being Achilles is the difference between living and dying.

Never on me let such wrath lay hold, as the wrath you cherish, you whose valor causes harm!

I have done it,” she says. At first I do not understand. But then I see the tomb, and the marks she has made on the stone. A C H I L L E S,...

He looked different in sleep, beautiful but cold as moonlight. I found myself wishing he would wake so that I might watch the life return.

Indeed, he seemed utterly unaware of his effect on the boys around him.

Bury us, and mark our names above. Let us be free.

I wish he had let you all die.