Is there, in truth, no beauty?

chaucer, Troilus and Criseyde c. 1380

You know the form of language, too, can change. Within a thousand years, even the words that were most precious then, seem strange and foolish to us; yet they spoke them so and did no worse in love than we now do.

this could be an interaction between a normal person and an evil telepath with some mind control ability pretending to be the voice of a benevolent god. or it could work as a demon lord speaking to a soul they’ve trapped in a mirror and keep at their side. or it could be an actual god trying to calm down their only believer because they’re trapped in the same prison. the concept amused me so kindly forgive the ugliness of the execution

— Charlotte Gray, Sebastian Faulks (b. 20 April 1953)

Kim Addonizio, Stolen Moments

Who built the seven gates of Thebes? The books are filled with names of kings. Was it the kings who hauled the craggy blocks of stone? And Babylon, so many times destroyed. Who built the city up each time? In which of Lima’s houses, That city glittering with gold, lived those who built it? In the evening when the Chinese wall was finished Where did the masons go? Imperial Rome Is full of arcs of triumph. Who reared them up? Over whom Did the Caesars triumph? Byzantium lives in song. Were all her dwellings palaces? And even in Atlantis of the legend The night the seas rushed in, The drowning men still bellowed for their slaves. Young Alexander conquered India. He alone? Caesar beat the Gauls. Was there not even a cook in his army? Phillip of Spain wept as his fleet was sunk and destroyed. Were there no other tears? Frederick the Great triumphed in the Seven Years War. Who triumphed with him? Each page a victory At whose expense the victory ball? Every ten years a great man, Who paid the piper? So many particulars. So many questions.

And on this one, a workman had carved his own name, Zabina’, into the block too, in Aramaic. Here’s the brick. It’s 2600 years old.