Best 258 quotes in «greek mythology quotes» category

Simple. Atlantis can't be found." He scoffed at her. " You're the second person to tell me that in less than an hour.

Acheron the River of Death: Healed souls in the wake of the vessel; My Obolus, He will not redound to the glory of those. Those who drown in the Acheron; out loud hands - that is our downfall, They scream out of desperate chasms.

A fine statue of a naked Theseus stands proudly today in Athens' central place of assembly, the city's hub, Syntagma Square. Even today he is a focus of Athenian identity and pride. The ship he brought back from his adventures in the Labyrinth of Crete remained moored in the harbour at Piraeus, a visitor attraction right up to the days of historical ancient Athens, the time of Socrates and Aristotle. Its continuous presence there for such a long time caused the Ship of Theseus to become a subject of intriguing philosophical speculation. Over hundreds of years, its rigging, its planks, its hull, deck, keel, prow, stern and all its timbers had been replaced so that not one atom of the original remained. Could one call it the same ship? Am I the same person I was fifty years ago? Every molecule and cell of my body has been replaced many times over.

All right then. Here's my story. Even though it plunges me into deeper grief than I feel now. But that's the way of the world, when one has been so far from home, so long away as I, roving over many cities of men, enduring many hardships.

A freezing cold underground river. A dark cave lit by ghosts. A man too stupid to realize you loved him. This is what you want?" "All of it. Especially the very stupid man.

Alecto was the oldest, unceasing in anger. Magaera was next, retaliator of jealousy, and Tisiphone, the last, regarded as the avenger of murder.

All limits are self imposed.

All my life my heart has sought a thing I cannot name,' the silver boy said, eyes dancing over the horizon. 'But now that I have found it, I am not so sure I can handle knowing it.

And you, Persephone... You were foretold, too. I never wanted anything-" her mouth moved softly, gently over my skin "-until I wanted you.

Aphrodite is about love and beauty. Being loving. Spreading beauty. Good friends. Good times. Good deeds.

Are the legends true?” asked Cadmus. “Of course they are,” replied Pan. “We live in an age of legends.

Almost immediately, I found the red door into the library. I opened it idly- and the breath stopped in my throat. It was the same room I remembered: the shelves, the lion-footed table, the white bass-relief of Clio. But now, tendrils of dark green ivy grew between the shelves, reaching toward the books as if they were hungry to read. White mist flowed along the floor, rippling and tumbling as if blown by wind. Across the ceiling wove a network of icy ropes like tree roots. They dripped- not little droplets like the ice melting off a tree but grape-sized drops of water, like giant tears, that splashed on the table, plopped to the floor.

A soul could be resurrected and re-born to another body, its memories restored, but once the house it belonged to had been emptied, they could no longer call it home."~Taznikos Abyssos

Aside from the encounter with the Sphinx, there is little in Oedipus to connect him to the common run of Greek heroic figures. He strikes us today as a modern tragic hero and political animal; it is hard to picture him shaking hands with Heracles or joining the crew of the Argo. many scholars and thinkers, most notably Friedrich Nietzsche in his book The Birth of Tragedy, have seen in Oedipus a character who works out on stage the tension in Athenians (and all of us) between the reasoning, mathematically literate citizen and the transgressive blood criminal; between the thinking and the instinctual being; between the superego and the id; between the Apollonian and the Dionysian impulses that contend within us. Oedipus is a detective who employs all the fields of enquiry of which the Athenians were so proud -- logic, numbers, rhetoric, order and discovery -- only to reveal a truth that is disordered, shameful, transgressive and bestial.

As a demigod - Fen cleared his throat - "I am flush with power. My power can be transformed into the kind of energy you need to feed." As he spoke, his eyes sparked with something feral that sent shivers racing down my spine. "It can happen from touch, kissing, but the greatest source is during the act of..." Ohmygodsinheaven. "Sex? Are you referring to sex?"... "My power becomes concentrated for... a very brief moment. It's all about the transfer of energy from one body to another." He looked wildly uncomfortable. "All who live in Asgard know this already. I've never had to explain it to someone." His semen packs a punch?

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 savor rising so delicately from our altars. It leaves only ash behind.

But the seraphs that watched from above knew the tale: Gods and mortals may change their skies, but not their souls, who rush across the sea.

But too much love is poison, especially when that love is not returned

Call me crazy, but there is something terribly wrong with this city.

CA-CAW. CA-CAW. I shrieked and hit the floor. Okay, maybe I needed a little protecting. "Use your spear, Ingrid!" I gestured wildly at the ornate weapon. "That bird is not going back out that window without a fight. Hurry, before it pecks us to death!" Instead of impaling the flying beast with her spear, Ingrid chuckled warmly. "Huggie, it's nice to see you again." --- "If they get to you before I can get you to the Valkyrie stronghold, you'll either be killed or tossed into one of the Nine Worlds quicker than you can say, 'Odin's my dad.

Carved on the temple [at Delphi] were the exhortations "Know yourself" and "Nothing too much," mottoes with a similar meaning: You are only human, so don't try more than you are able (or you will pay the price). A recurring theme in Greek myth is the man or woman who loses sight of human limitations and acts arrogantly and with violence, as if immortal. And pays a terrible price.

Classical mythology is a catalogue of indescribable cruelty: [...] It is a world dominated by evil, where even the most beautiful beings carry out atrocities.

Childhood is bound like the Gordian knot with my memories of the Black Sea, and I still feel its waters welling up within me today. Sometimes these waters are leaden, as grey as the military ships that sail on their curved expanses, and sometimes they are blue as pigmented cobalt. Then would come dusk, when I would sit and watch the seabirds waver to shore, flitting from open waters to the quiet empty vastlands in darkening spaces behind me, the same birds Ovid once saw during his exile, perhaps; and the same waters the Argonauts crossed searching for the fleece of renewal. And out in the distance, invisible, the towering heights of Caucasus, where once-bright memories of the fire-thief have transmuted into something weird and many-faceted, and beyond these, pitch-black Karabakh in dolorous Armenia.

Come up when you’re finished down here.” He raised a brow. “I don’t have any alarms to check up there.” That sexy sparkle was back in her eyes. “Then I guess you’ll just have to check me.

Creation at this time, peopled as it was by primal deities whose whole energy and purpose seems to have been directed towards reproduction, was endowed with an astonishing fertility. The soil was blessed with such a fecund richness that one could almost believe that if you planted a pencil it would burst into flower.

death is predestined for all mortals. Souls live forever, but the body does not. Unless you are immortal, both the soul and body are tied together."~Taznikos Abyssos

Did Bach ever eat pancakes at midnight?

Dimly Kev remembered one of the mythology stories the Hathaways were so fond of... the Greek one about Hades, the god of the underworld, kidnapping the maiden Persephone in a flowery field and dragging her down through an opening in the earth. Down to his dark, private world where he could possess her. Although the Hathaway daughters had all been indignant about Persephone's fate, Kev's sympathies had privately been on Hades' side. Romany culture tended to romanticize the idea of kidnapping a woman for one's bride, even mimicking it during their courtship rituals. "I don't see why eating a mere half-dozen pomegranate seeds should have condemned Persephone to stay with Hades part of every year," Poppy had said in outrage. "No one told her the rules. It wasn't fair. I'm certain she would never have touched a thing, had she known what would happen." "And it wasn't a very filling snack," Beatrix had added, perturbed. "If I'd been there, I would have asked for a pudding or a jam pastry, at least." "Perhaps she wasn't altogether unhappy, having to stay," Win had suggested, her eyes twinkling. "After all, Hades did make her his queen. And the story says he possessed 'the riches of the earth.'" "A rich husband," Amelia had said, "doesn't change the fact that Persephone's main residence is in an undesirable location with no view whatsoever. Just think of the difficulties in leasing it out during the off-months." They had all agreed that Hades was a complete villain. But Kev had understood exactly why the underworld god had stolen Persephone for his bride. He had wanted a little bit of sunshine, of warmth, for himself, down in the cheerless gloom of his dark palace.

Daedalus’s blood ran cold. “No?” he shook off his son’s arm. “For once you have tasted flight …” His voice was desperate now. “…you will walk the earth with your eyes turned skywards, for there you have been and there you will long to return.

Athena's jealousy made a monster of fair Medusa. I often wonder what beauty my own demons have destroyed.

Do not worry about your contradictions - Persephone is both floral maiden and queen of death. You, too, can be both.

Do we not each dream of dreams? Do we not dance on the notes of lost memories? Then are we not each dreamers of tomorrow and yesterday, since dreams play when time is askew? Are we not all adrift in the constant sea of trial and when all is done, do we not all yearn for ships to carry us home?

Do you think, for a moment," she whispered, "that I would have done anything differently? That I could have chosen anything but this, now?" Her dark eyes were alive, bright, shining. "I would suffer any lie, Persephone, for you.

Do you think we can be friends?” I asked. He stared up at the ceiling. “Probably not, but we can pretend.

Do you think you might be able to love me someday?" He asked and heard her laugh softly. "I already do." She said and his soul soared. "So this is what the poets write about? This is what they call love?" She asked. "Yes my love." He said softly. "They do not do it justice." She stated and he laughed. "I agree." He told her as he held her, wondering how this could be real.

Even Cronus, the Titan who literally had his kids for breakfast, would find these facts hard to swallow.

E tu troverai alla sinistra delle case di Ade una fonte, e accanto a essa un bianco cipresso diritto: a questa fonte non accostarti neppure, da presso. E ne troverai un'altra, fredda acqua che scorre dalla palude di Mnemosine: e davanti stanno i custodi. Di' loro: Sono figlio di Terra e di Cielo stellante, inoltre la mia stirpe è Celeste; e questo sapete anche voi. Sono riarsa di sete e muoio: ma date, subito, fredda acqua che scorre dalla palude di Mnemosine. Ed essi ti lasceranno bere dalla fonte divina, e in seguito tu regnerai assieme agli altri eroi. Di Mnemosine, questo è il sepolcro..." Laminetta trovata a Petelia Oblio e memoria sono i due strumenti del dissetamento. Se si beve dalla corrente dell'oblio si dimentica tutto e si rinasce a una nuova vita, cioè la sete è soltanto ingannata, e l'arsura non tarda a ripresentarsi in una nuova individuazione. Ma se si beve dalla fonte di Mnemosine, come testimoniano queste laminette, la memoria fa recuperare la conoscenza del passato e dell'immutabile, l'uomo riconosce la sua origine divina e si identifica in Dioniso, e l'arsura non viene spenta, ma dissetata, da una gelida, divina, prorompente conoscenza.

Do the gods reckon up the good we do by accident, when they calculate the value of our days? My motives were selfish. Nearly always are. How much of the good I have done in my life has been done in just such a way? I fancy the gods must take this into their accounting. They have a liking for cunning. 'Traveller

Even after a lifetime of being near oracles, I found their predictions annoyingly vague.

everybody loves himself more than his neighbor.

Fen referred to my lack of finesse as my sluggish human carryover, which was an artful way of saying I sucked and hit like a girl. He kept at me to become more Zenlike and less like a human zombie while I was fighting.

Eyes open, Ileana,” he growled. “I want you to see who’s in you. Who gives you what you need.

Every generation, the nine daughters of Zeus are reborn, and with their rebirth are also nine Guardians. They will be marked by the gods, and given gifts to protect his treasure. Their abilities will only be unlocked when they find their muse.

Follow your heart, not the law.

For many years Minos has been lucky to have in his court the most gifted inventor, the most skilled artificer outside of the Olympian forges of Hephaestus. His name is Daedalus and he is capable of fashioning moving objects out of metal, bronze, wood, ivory and gemstones. He has mastered the art of tightly coiling leaves of steel into powerful springs, which control wheels and chains to form intricate and marvellous mechanisms that mark the passage of the hours with great precision and accuracy, or control the levels of watercourses. There is nothing this cunning man cannot contrive in his workshop. There are moving statues there, men and women animated by his skill, boxes that play music and devices that can awaken him in the morning. Even if only half the stories of what Daedalus can achieve are true then you can be certain that no more cunning and clever an inventor, architect and craftsman has ever walked this earth.

For the world seems never to offer anything worthwhile without also providing a dreadful opposite.

From stars, he was born, and to stars, he shall return.

Gods are cold. War, killing, and stabbing each other in the back is really what we do best.

Hades Where we go when he closes my eyes and under what country; some blue darkness, farther from hell; a landscape of absense and root and stone. There are no bodies here, we dream shapeless dreams-- a constant, cloudless storm. Mother, I'll never wake up from him. I have already traveled too far. My mouth is the color of his mouth and his arms are no longer his arms; they're mute as smoke, as my first white dress, and the spear of his name, once ferocious, dissolves on my tongue like sugar, like birdsong, I whisper it: Hades

Griffin’s eyes capture mine. He holds my face in his hands. “You. Belong. With. Me.