Lust is a cunning weaver of fantasies and fables, an evening star, the fairest of all the stars and they were shackled by it.
“If you forget me, think of our gifts to Aphrodite and all the loveliness that we shared, all the violent tiaras, braided rosebuds, dill and crocus twined around your young neck, myrrh poured on your head and on soft skin and hard thighs, girls with all that they most wished for beside them and touching them and in them while no voices chanted choruses without their own, no woodlot bloomed in spring without song’