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.

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.