Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

"In the darkness, two shadows, reaching through the hopeless, heavy dusk. Their hands meet, and light spills in a flood like a hundred golden urns pouring out of the sun."

"When he died, all things soft and beautiful and bright would be buried with him."

"And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone."

"When he died, all things soft and beautiful and bright would be buried with him."