“She’d thought Troy stank: the corpse piles, the fires, the fish guts thoughtfully left out for the gods—gee fucking thanks, guys, just what we want—and the stupid Achaeans stomping around on the beach, refusing to wash, letting the blood cook… — Stephen King Copy Share Image
Struck in the wet mire Four thousand leagues from the ninth buried city I thought of Troy, what we had built her for. — Allen Tate Copy Share Image
