Aphrodite Beauty Quotes

But beauty is about finding the right fit, the most natural fit, To be perfect, you have to feel perfect about yourself --- avoid trying to be something you're not. For a goddess, that's especially hard. We can change so easily. -Aphrodite

Aphrodite strikes again, huh? You're gonna be the best-dressed warrior in town, beauty queen.

As Aristocleia raised her cup to toast Xanthippus, her gown slipped from her shoulders, exquisite as Aphrodite’s, and flowed like the water that slid over her naked breasts when she allowed him to watch her bathe. It was wonderful to possess a gem of a woman. It made a man feel beautiful and godlike himself, briefly.

Aphrodite had the beauty; Zeus had the thunderbolts. Everyone loved Aphrodite, but everyone listened to Zeus.

...gracious your form and your eyes as honey : desire is poured upon your lovely face Aphrodite has honored you exceedingly...

I have found my star. She is beauty and grace. Elegance and goodness. My laughter in winter. She is courageous and strong. Bold and tempting. Unlike any other in all the universe, and I cannot touch her. I dare not even try. Astrid or Aphrodite, she is my Circe. Only instead of changing a man into an animal she has made the animal human. I am such a fucking idiot, wanting a star I can’t have. But then, all stars are beyond human reach and I’m not even human. (Zarek)

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

Oh, dear Hazel.” Aphrodite folded her fan. “Such optimism, yet you have heartrending days ahead of you. Of course war is coming. Love and war always go together. They are the peaks of human emotion! Evil and good, beauty and ugliness.

It was certainly not this mummified and outrageously painted old woman he was seeing before him, but the entire "female species," as it was his custom to call women. The individual disappeared, the features were obliterated, whether young or senile, beautiful or ugly - those were mere unimportant variations. Behind each woman rises the austere, sacred and mysterious face of Aphrodite.

Piers took a leisurely look at Linnet. There was the beauty, sure enough. But it didn't detract from the intelligence in her eyes. And in his opinion the slightly cynical lilt in her voice just made her all the more beautiful, as if Aphrodite had been crossed with Athena.

I still wasn’t sure that I loved him. Love—the kind that was holy to Aphrodite—was not something I had ever allowed myself to think about much. If you desired someone, if he comforted you, if you thought he might leech the poison out of your heart, was that love? Or only desperation?

Some say an army of horsemen, some of footsoldiers, some of ships, is the fairest thing on the black earth, but I say it is what one loves. It's very easy to make this clear to everyone, for Helen, by far surpassing mortals in beauty, left the best of all husbands and sailed to Troy, mindful of neither her child nor her dear parents, but with one glimpse she was seduced by Aphrodite. For easily bent... and nimbly...[missing text]... has reminded me now of Anactoria who is not here; I would much prefer to see the lovely way she walks and the radiant glance of her face than the war-chariots of the Lydians or their footsoldiers in arms.

Accepting this body did not mean convincing myself that it was beautiful; it meant giving myself permission to exist regardless.

Choose,' she says, reaching out towards him. 'Choose to which of us the apple most belongs...

She stepped toward Anna. “I can get you a night with an accomplished male whore or a virginal schoolboy.” Coral’s eyes widened and seemed to flame. “Famous libertines or ragpickers off the street. One very special man or ten complete strangers. Dark men, red men, yellow men, men you’ve only dreamed of in the black of night, lonely in your bed, snug under your covers. Whatever you long for. Whatever you desire. Whatever you crave. You have only to ask me.” Anna stared at Coral like a mesmerized mouse before a particularly beautiful snake.

Beauty is about finding the right fit, the most natural fit. To be perfect, you have to feel perfect about yourself - avoid trying to be something you're not.

A trim and tan bikini clad Aphrodite

Even if I was pretty, it wasn’t going to be enough to bring me the life I wanted: one where I was free to make choices that mattered, one where people listened to what I had to say. Aphrodite had the beauty; Zeus had the thunderbolts. Everyone loved Aphrodite, but everyone listened to Zeus. I’d never get my hands on a thunderbolt, so if I wanted to be free, I’d better find a way to get my hands on the next best thing: a sword.

If Aphrodite chills at home in Cyprus for most of the year, then Fez must be the goddess’s playground.

When I was a youngster, all the progressive people were saying, “Why all this prudery? Let us treat sex just as we treat all our other impulses.” I was simple-minded enough to believe they meant what they said. I have since discovered that they meant exactly the opposite. They meant that sex was to be treated as no other impulse in our nature has ever been treated by civilized people. All the others, we admit, have to be bridled. Absolute obedience to your instinct for self-preservation is what we call cowardice; to your acquisitive impulse, avarice. Even sleep must be resisted if you’re a sentry. But every unkindness and breach of faith seems to be condoned provided that the object aimed at is “four bare legs in a bed.” It is like having a morality in which stealing fruit is considered wrong—unless you steal nectarines. And if you protest against this view you are usually met with chatter about the legitimacy and beauty and sanctity of “sex” and accused of harboring some Puritan prejudice against it as something disreputable or shameful. I deny the charge. Foam-born Venus … golden Aphrodite … Our Lady of Cyprus… I never breathed a word against you. If I object to boys who steal my nectarines, must I be supposed to disapprove of nectarines in general? Or even of boys in general? It might, you know, be stealing that I disapproved of.

I want you to understand a fundamental rule about love. You see, there are two kinds: the surface and the deep water. Now, Aphrodite emerged from foam,remember? Foam love is a nice feeling, but just as superficial. When it’s gone it’s gone, nothing remains. Always aim for the kind of love that comes from the deep. … foam love is interested in foam beauty. Sea love seeks sea beauty and you, my heart, deserve sea love, the strong and profound and enchanting type.

A deed your lovely face if not, winter and no pain I bid you, Abanthis, take up the lyre and sing of Gongyla as again desire floats around you the beautiful. When you saw her dress it excited you. I'm happy. The Kypros-born once blamed me for praying this word: I want

Touching the copper of the ankh reminded me of another necklace, a necklace long since lost under the dust of time. That necklace had been simpler: only a string of beads etched with tiny ankhs. But my husband had brought it to me the morning of our wedding, sneaking up to our house just after dawn in a gesture uncharacteristically bold for him. I had chastised him for the indiscretion. "What are you doing? You're going to see me this afternoon... and then every day after that!" "I had to give you these before the wedding." He held up the string of beads. "They were my mother's. I want you to have them, to wear them today.” He leaned forward, placing the beads around my neck. As his fingers brushed my skin, I felt something warm and tingly run through my body. At the tender age of fifteen, I hadn't exactly understood such sensations, though I was eager to explore them. My wiser self today recognized them as the early stirrings of lust, and . . . well, there had been something else there too. Something else that I still didn't quite comprehend. An electric connection, a feeling that we were bound into something bigger than ourselves. That our being together was inevitable. "There," he'd said, once the beads were secure and my hair brushed back into place. "Perfect.” He said nothing else after that. He didn't need to. His eyes told me all I needed to know, and I shivered. Until Kyriakos, no man had ever given me a second glance. I was Marthanes' too-tall daughter after all, the one with the sharp tongue who didn't think before speaking. (Shape-shifting would eventually take care of one of those problems but not the other.) But Kyriakos had always listened to me and watched me like I was someone more, someone tempting and desirable, like the beautiful priestesses of Aphrodite who still carried on their rituals away from the Christian priests. I wanted him to touch me then, not realizing just how much until I caught his hand suddenly and unexpectedly. Taking it, I placed it around my waist and pulled him to me. His eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't pull back. We were almost the same height, making it easy for his mouth to seek mine out in a crushing kiss. I leaned against the warm stone wall behind me so that I was pressed between it and him. I could feel every part of his body against mine, but we still weren't close enough. Not nearly enough. Our kissing grew more ardent, as though our lips alone might close whatever aching distance lay between us. I moved his hand again, this time to push up my skirt along the side of one leg. His hand stroked the smooth flesh there and, without further urging, slid over to my inner thigh. I arched my lower body toward his, nearly writhing against him now, needing him to touch me everywhere. "Letha? Where are you at?” My sister's voice carried over the wind; she wasn't nearby but was close enough to be here soon. Kyriakos and I broke apart, both gasping, pulses racing. He was looking at me like he'd never seen me before. Heat burned in his gaze. "Have you ever been with anyone before?" he asked wonderingly. I shook my head. "How did you ... I never imagined you doing that...” "I learn fast.” He grinned and pressed my hand to his lips. "Tonight," he breathed. "Tonight we ...” "Tonight," I agreed. He backed away then, eyes still smoldering. "I love you. You are my life.” "I love you too." I smiled and watched him go.

Passion, Love, and Beauty," I told you, Aphrodite. "You know she can no longer have them all.

She was a goddess. As fierce as Hera and as beautiful as Aphrodite. I would follow her into Hades if she asked me.

Andromeda in a beautiful exchange, 'Psapfo, why ignore Afroditi rich in blessings?

Beauty is about finding the right fit, the most natural fit. To be perfect, you have to feel perfect about yourself - avoid being something your not.

... Aphrodite ... sweet-talking [Loves] ... may throw ... having ... sit ... blooms ... beautiful dew ...

Apollo taught her to sing and play the lyre. Athene taught her to spin, Demeter to tend a garden. Aphrodite taught her how to look at a man without moving her eyes and how to dance without moving her legs. Poseidon gave her a pearl necklace and promised she would never drown. And finally Hermes gave her a beautiful golden box, which, he told her, she must never, never open. And then Hera gave her curiosity.

It was told that during the wedding feast, Eris [Discordia], a daughter of Nyx, threw a golden apple into their midst, intended as a prize for the most beautiful amongst the three Goddesses at the table: Athena, Hera & Aphrodite, the daughter, wife & clandestine lover of Zeus, respectively. And Zeus wisely dodged the responsibility of making such a tough decision,directing that it should be made by Paris of Troy instead.

I have seen the Virgin in an appletree at Chartres And Saint Joan burn at the Bella Union. I have seen giraffes in junglejims their necks like love wound around the iron circumstances of the world. I have seen the Venus Aphrodite armless in her drafty corridor. I have heard a siren sing at One Fifth Avenue. I have seen the White Goddess dancing in the Rue des Beaux Arts on the Fourteenth of July and the Beautiful Dame Without Mercy picking her nose in Chumley's.

Hercules knows you are a strong, confident woman. It's one of the things he loves about you, just like you relish his big heart and ability to see the world in a bright way. You've opened yourselves up to each other, which is a beautiful thing! But it's important to remember that when you let someone into your heart, you allow them to see all sides of you- even the vulnerable side. Loving someone does not make you any less strong. It means you trust in one another and they trust in you- that you can give and you can take.

He was grateful for Piper. He needed a friend, and he was glad she’d started losing the Aphrodite blessing. The makeup was fading. Her hair was slowly going back to its old choppy style with the little braids down the sides. It made her look more real, and as far as Jason was concerned, more beautiful.

When Zeus[Jupiter]first saw Aphrodite[Venus]& Aphrodite thus first saw Zeus, it was love at first sight.Naturally. Since Zeus was the King of the Gods, who loved all beautiful Goddesses.And Aphrodite was the Goddess of Love, the most beautiful & lovely of all the Goddesses.But love was all they had in common.

Just as places where the goddess was worshipped became sites for Christian churches, so too were her symbols taken over. Before becoming Mary's symbol, for instance, the open red rose was associated with Aphrodite and represented mature sexuality. At Chartres, which is dedicated to the Virgin Mary, roses abound. Light streams through three enormous and beautiful stained glass rose windows, and a symbolic rose is at the center of the labryinth. The path of the labyrinth is exactly 666 feet long. Six hundred sixty-six, according to Barbara Walker, was Aphrodite's sacred number. In Chrstian theology it became a demonic one.

But to tell even a tenth part of the marvels rich and beautiful that were in the house of Krothering: its cool courts and colonnades rich with gems and fragrant with costly spices and strange blooms: its bed-chambers where, caught like Aphrodite in her golden net, the spirit of sleep seemed ever to shake slumber from its plumes, and none might be waking long in those chambers but sweet sleep overcame their eyelids: the Chamber of the Sun and the Chamber of the Moon, and the great middle hall with its high gallery and ivory stair: to tell of all these were but to cloy imagination with picturing in one while of over-much glory and splendour.

Even the beautiful must perish! That which overcomes gods and men Moves not the armored heart of the Stygian Zeus. Only once did love come to soften the Lord of the Shadows, And just at the threshold he sternly took back his gift. Neither can Aphrodite heal the wounds of the beautiful youth That the boar had savagely torn in his delicate body. Nor can the deathless mother rescue the divine hero When, at the Scaean gate now falling, he fulfills his fate. But she ascends from the sea with all the daughters of Nereus, And she raises a plaint here for her glorious son. Behold! The gods weep, all the goddesses weep, That the beautiful perishes, that the most perfect passes away. But a lament on the lips of loved ones is glorious, For the ignoble goes down to Orcus in silence. Nänie

Here’s the thing about true love. If there are seven billion people on the planet, there are seven billion different ways to see it. There is no such thing as the most beautiful woman in the world. What looks like love for one person doesn’t for another. Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love, could become any woman because any woman could be the most beautiful woman in the world to someone. I’ve always loved that about Aphrodite. Even though she'd picked her favourite, she knew that every face was worthy of adoration.

The ascent of the soul through love, which Plato describes in the Phaedrus, is symbolized in the figure of Aphrodite Urania, and this was the Venus painted by Botticelli, who was incidentally an ardent Platonist, and member of the Platonist circle around Pico della Mirandola. Botticelli’s Venus is not erotic: she is a vision of heavenly beauty, a visitation from other and higher spheres, and a call to transcendence. Indeed, she is self-evidently both the ancestor and the descendant of the Virgins of Fra Filippo Lippi: the ancestor in her pre-Christian meaning, the descendant in absorbing all that had been achieved through the artistic representation of the Virgin Mary as the symbol of untainted flesh. The post-Renaissance rehabilitation of sexual desire laid the foundations for a genuinely erotic art, an art that would display the human being as both subject and object of desire, but also as a free individual whose desire is a favour consciously bestowed. But this rehabilitation of sex leads us to raise what has become one of the most important questions confronting art and the criticism of art in our time: that of the difference, if there is one, between erotic art and pornography. Art can be erotic and also beautiful, like a Titian Venus. But it cannot be beautiful and also pornographic—so we believe, at least. And it is important to see why. In distinguishing the erotic and the pornographic we are really distinguishing two kinds of interest: interest in the embodied person and interest in the body—and, in the sense that I intend, these interests are incompatible. (See the discussion in Chapter 2.) Normal desire is an inter-personal emotion. Its aim is a free and mutual surrender, which is also a uniting of two individuals, of you and me—through our bodies, certainly, but not merely as our bodies. Normal desire is a person to person response, one that seeks the selfhood that it gives. Objects can be substituted for each other, subjects not. Subjects, as Kant persuasively argued, are free individuals; their non-substitutability belongs to what they essentially are. Pornography, like slavery, is a denial of the human subject, a way of negating the moral demand that free beings must treat each other as ends in themselves.

ACHILLES – the best fighter of the Greeks who besieged Troy in the Trojan War; extraordinarily strong, courageous, and loyal, he had only one weak spot: his heel AENEAS – a Trojan hero, the son of Aphrodite and a favourite of Apollo; became king of the Trojan people AMPHORA (AMPHORAE, pl.) – a tall ceramic jar ANDROMEDA – the daughter of the Ethiopian king, Cepheus, and his wife, Cassiopeia; after Cassiopeia bragged that her daughter was more beautiful than the Nereids, Poseidon sent a sea monster, Cetus, to attack Ethiopia; Perseus saved Andromeda from the rock she was chained to as a sacrifice

Afer a little time, men did what they always do. They didn’t try to understand, they tried to explain. They made me earthly. They branded me woman. Then they saw things in me that didn’t mesh well with woman. They saw parts of me they didn’t understand and they broke them off. They called me a hundred different names, an epithet for everything. Couldn’t even bother trying to comprehend it all together—that I could be bloody and beautiful, that I could be divine and approachable. Men wrote the stories of my birth as if they were standing on the shore when I was spat up onto it. They picked up their pens and waxed poetic and nobody questioned it. Nobody asked me instead.

In the theology of Protestant Christianity of my experience, the Trinity of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost was male. In my own experience, because Holy Spirit or Holy Ghost was invisible, it became genderless. In the New Testament, the Holy Spirit descended in the form of a dove, which is a feminine symbol, and was called the Comforter. When we need comforting—when we have been hurt, or in pain or grief, or are sick and afraid—we feel small and want mother to put her arms around us, to kiss the hurt and make it go away. Even when our own experience of mother was not this, we yearn for what we know is archetypal; we miss Mother. Long before Christianity, the dove was the goddess Aphrodite's symbol. Hidden in the symbology of the male Holy Spirit is the presence of the goddess of love and Beauty who was also a mother goddess.

Prayer to Afroditi On your dappled throne eternal Afroditi, cunning daughter of Zeus, I beg you, do not crush my heart with pain, O lady, but come here if ever before you heard my voice from far away, and yielding left your father's house of gold and came, yoking birds to your chariot. Beautiful quick sparrows whirring on beating wings took you from heaven down to mid sky over the black earth and soon arrived. O blessed one, on your deathless face a smile, you asked me what I am suffering and why I call you, what I most want to happen in my crazy heart. "Whom shall I persuade again to take you into her love? Who, O Psapfo, wrongs you? If she runs away, soon she will pursue. If she scorns gifts, now she will bribe. If she doesn't love, soon she will love even unwillingly." Come to me now and loosen me from blunt agony. Labor and fill my heart with fire. Stand by me and be my ally.

Hera said that Hephaestus was the one who made the lovely chariots for Zeus, Poseidon & Hades. Also the one for Helios, the Sun God. And if she married him, he might make one for her too. But she did not tell the young Goddess of Love why none of the Goddesses wanted to marry him in the first instance & that he was ugly & a cripple. She also omitted to tell her that Hephaestus, having created the first woman, Pandora, from clay, had neither the patience nor the inclination to woo & pamper women, let alone put up with the changing moods of the young lovely Goddesses at Olympus. And that even the warlike & down-to-earth Athena had dropped him like a ton of bricks. As Aphrodite did not appear to have any choices, she nodded her head & thus accepted Hera as her future mother-in-law. And this explains one of the greatest mysteries in Greek Mythology: why the loveliest & most beautiful of the Goddesses would agree to marry the ugliest of the Gods. For this mismatch would not have happened if not for Hera.

Fragment of the Elegy on the Death of Adonis Prom the Greek of Bion Published by Forman, "Poetical Works of P. B. S.", 1876. I mourn Adonis dead—loveliest Adonis— Dead, dead Adonis—and the Loves lament. Sleep no more, Venus, wrapped in purple woof— Wake violet-stoled queen, and weave the crown Of Death,—'tis Misery calls,—for he is dead. The lovely one lies wounded in the mountains, His white thigh struck with the white tooth; he scarce Yet breathes; and Venus hangs in agony there. The dark blood wanders o'er his snowy limbs, His eyes beneath their lids are lustreless, The rose has fled from his wan lips, and there That kiss is dead, which Venus gathers yet. A deep, deep wound Adonis... A deeper Venus bears upon her heart. See, his beloved dogs are gathering round— The Oread nymphs are weeping—Aphrodite With hair unbound is wandering through the woods, 'Wildered, ungirt, unsandalled—the thorns pierce Her hastening feet and drink her sacred blood. Bitterly screaming out, she is driven on Through the long vales; and her Assyrian boy, Her love, her husband, calls—the purple blood From his struck thigh stains her white navel now, Her bosom, and her neck before like snow. Alas for Cytherea—the Loves mourn— The lovely, the beloved is gone!—and now Her sacred beauty vanishes away. For Venus whilst Adonis lived was fair— Alas! her loveliness is dead with him. The oaks and mountains cry, Ai! ai! Adonis! The springs their waters change to tears and weep— The flowers are withered up with grief... Ai! ai! ... Adonis is dead Echo resounds ... Adonis dead. Who will weep not thy dreadful woe. O Venus? Soon as she saw and knew the mortal wound Of her Adonis—saw the life-blood flow From his fair thigh, now wasting,—wailing loud She clasped him, and cried ... 'Stay, Adonis! Stay, dearest one,... and mix my lips with thine— Wake yet a while, Adonis—oh, but once, That I may kiss thee now for the last time— But for as long as one short kiss may live— Oh, let thy breath flow from thy dying soul Even to my mouth and heart, that I may suck That...' NOTE: _23 his Rossetti, Dowden, Woodberry; her Boscombe manuscript, Forman

How to describe the woman? Silky hair, velvety lips. No, it won’t do, I’m using fabrics, constructing a doll. How about coppery hair, or golden locks of hair, or platinum blonde? No, now I’m doing some kind of industrial metallurgy with precious metals; in addition to everything else, the woman sounds like a commodity. And what’s “locks of hair” supposed to mean? Lock, some kind of bondage? No, strike it out. Ruby lips, pearly white teeth, brilliant smile. No, now I’m making the woman out of precious stones, and out of clichés. Almond-shaped eyes, hazel-colored eyes, pear-shaped waist, apple-red cheeks, lips like the bud of a moist flower, peachy fuzz on her upper lip. Now I’m making up a woman out of fruits, plants. She strode like a gazelle. Her snaky waist coiled and uncoiled. Now I’m demeaning the woman, making her into an animal. On the other hand, you can call a woman a goddess. Aphrodite, Venus, or at least a demi-god, angelic beauty. But these terms were all invariably overused, clichés. In addition, if you call a woman Aphrodite, it might seem like an oblique way of saying that the woman is overweight.

To me it seems that man has the fortune of gods, whoever sits beside you and close, who listens to you sweetly speaking and laughing temptingly. My heart flutters in my breast whenever I quickly glance at you – I can say nothing, my tongue is broken. A delicate fire runs under my skin, my eyes see nothing, my ears roar, cold sweat rushes down me, trembling seizes me, I am greener than grass. To myself I seem needing but little to die. Yet all must be endured, since . . . [The Muses] granted me honor by the gift of their works. Golden-crowned Aphrodite, may I draw this lot . . . Stars around the fair moon hide away their radiant form whenever in fullness she lights the earth . . . you, either Cyprus, Paphos, or Palermo I yearn and I desire. in the dripping of my pain May winds and anguish take him who condemns . . . You scorch us Iridescent sandals covered her feet, fine Lydian work. To you I [sacrifice] on the altar a white goat. and I will leave for you For you beautiful women my mind never changes. Their hearts grew cold and their wings fell slack. . . . stirs up quietude . . . trouble in mind . . . sits down . . . Come now, my friends, . . . for day is nigh.

Gods in The Lost Hero Aeolus The Greek god of the winds. Roman form: Aeolus Aphrodite The Greek goddess of love and beauty. She was married to Hephaestus, but she loved Ares, the god of war. Roman form: Venus Apollo The Greek god of the sun, prophecy, music, and healing; the son of Zeus, and the twin of Artemis. Roman form: Apollo Ares The Greek god of war; the son of Zeus and Hera, and half brother to Athena. Roman form: Mars Artemis The Greek goddess of the hunt and the moon; the daughter of Zeus and the twin of Apollo. Roman form: Diana Boreas The Greek god of the north wind, one of the four directional anemoi (wind gods); the god of winter; father of Khione. Roman form: Aquilon Demeter The Greek goddess of agriculture, a daughter of the Titans Rhea and Kronos. Roman form: Ceres Dionysus The Greek god of wine; the son of Zeus. Roman form: Bacchus Gaea The Greek personification of Earth. Roman form: Terra Hades According to Greek mythology, ruler of the Underworld and god of the dead. Roman form: Pluto Hecate The Greek goddess of magic; the only child of the Titans Perses and Asteria. Roman form: Trivia Hephaestus The Greek god of fire and crafts and of blacksmiths; the son of Zeus and Hera, and married to Aphrodite. Roman form: Vulcan Hera The Greek goddess of marriage; Zeus’s wife and sister. Roman form: Juno Hermes The Greek god of travelers, communication, and thieves; son of Zeus. Roman form: Mercury Hypnos The Greek god of sleep; the (fatherless) son of Nyx (Night) and brother of Thanatos (Death). Roman form: Somnus Iris The Greek goddess of the rainbow, and a messenger of the gods; the daughter of Thaumas and Electra. Roman form: Iris Janus The Roman god of gates, doors, and doorways, as well as beginnings and endings. Khione The Greek goddess of snow; daughter of Boreas Notus The Greek god of the south wind, one of the four directional anemoi (wind gods). Roman form: Favonius Ouranos The Greek personification of the sky. Roman form: Uranus Pan The Greek god of the wild; the son of Hermes. Roman form: Faunus Pompona The Roman goddess of plenty Poseidon The Greek god of the sea; son of the Titans Kronos and Rhea, and brother of Zeus and Hades. Roman form: Neptune Zeus The Greek god of the sky and king of the gods. Roman form: Jupiter

Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess who was admired by all, but no one dared to ask for her hand in marriage. In despair, the king consulted the god Apollo. He told him that Psyche should be dressed in mourning and left alone on top of a mountain. Before daybreak, a serpent would come to meet and marry her. The king obeyed, and all night the princess waited for her husband to appear, deathly afraid and freezing cold. Finally, she slept. When she awoke, she found herself crowned a queen in a beautiful palace. Every night her husband came to her and they made love, but he had imposed one condition: Psyche could have all she desired, but she had to trust him completely and could never see his face.” How awful, I think, but I don’t dare interrupt him. “The young woman lived happily for a long time. She had comfort, affection, joy, and she was in love with the man who visited her every night. However, occasionally she was afraid that she was married to a hideous serpent. Early one morning, while her husband slept, she lit a lantern and saw Eros, a man of incredible beauty, lying by her side. The light woke him, and seeing that the woman he loved was unable to fulfill his one request, Eros vanished. Desperate to get her lover back, Psyche submitted to a series of tasks given to her by Aphrodite, Eros’s mother. Needless to say, her mother-in-law was incredibly jealous of Psyche’s beauty and she did everything she could to thwart the couple’s reconciliation. In one of the tasks, Psyche opened a box that makes her fall into a deep sleep.” I grow anxious to find out how the story will end. “Eros was also in love and regretted not having been more lenient toward his wife. He managed to enter the castle and wake her with the tip of his arrow. ‘You nearly died because of your curiosity,’ he told her. ‘You sought security in knowledge and destroyed our relationship.’ But in love, nothing is destroyed forever. Imbued with this conviction, they go to Zeus, the god of gods, and beg that their union never be undone. Zeus passionately pleaded the cause of the lovers with strong arguments and threats until he gained Aphrodite’s support. From that day on, Psyche (our unconscious, but logical, side) and Eros (love) were together forever.” I pour another glass of wine. I rest my head on his shoulder. “Those who cannot accept this, and who always try to find an explanation for magical and mysterious human relationships, will miss the best part of life.

The connections to the legend of Osiris – and indeed to Christianity – were curious, with the echo of the creation of a new god, and the circumstances of Antinous’ death also echoed the superficial but alluring themes of popular Greek myths. There was Hylas, companion of Heracles and the Argonauts, who was drowned by adoring water nymphs who drew him into the spring where he had been sent to fetch water. There was Narcissus, who under Aphrodite’s curse was fatally entranced by his own reflection in the surface of a pool. Antinous the god joined the company of beautiful boys with powerful, if capricious, protectors, who met strange, watery deaths. Antinous was a perfect divinity for the second-century world of the imagination.

while others describe the girdle as ‘honeyed.’ Most often, this girdle is associated with Aphrodite

Accepting this body did not mean convincing myself that it was beautiful; it meant giving myself permission to exist regardless.

Superman – Moses in a costume, with his underpants on the outside. Captain America – the poster boy of the mad American patriot. Wonder Woman wore a bathing suit bearing the American flag. She was as beautiful as Aphrodite, as wise as Athena, as strong as Hercules, and as swift and as great a warrior as Diana. Superheroes fought enemy spies at home. They battled reds under the beds. America is a mythological country in the modern world. By surrounding itself with modern myths, it has made itself less and less real. America simulates being a real country via its modern myths, but only succeeds in become phonier.

It was now, I realized almost with a shock, October; perhaps the most beautiful month of the year in Rome. The trees had changed into a hundred shades of red and gold. Sometimes an unearthly pearly light washed the city, sharp and clear like a spring morning on the Acropolis, and in the evening that curious pinkish flush in the streets, which lasts only from dusk to darkness, seemed to be accentuated. Masses of splendid fat grapes, black and white, filled the street stalls. They reminded me that Bacchic revels made respectable by church processions—a collaboration that would not have surprised Gregory the Great—were taking place in the wine towns of the Castelli Romani, where the grape harvest had now been gathered. Some pungent whiff of this Virgilian moment seemed to enter Rome in the morning with those odd-looking wine carts and their rows of little barrels, the driver sitting up beneath a huge ribbed umbrella, in shape like the shell of some shabby and discredited Aphrodite. They trundled into Trastevere and replenished the tavern cellars with more than usual jollity and it was often in my mind to go out to Frascati and look up my friends of the wine vaults who were, I supposed, now knee deep in the new vintage: but I never did so.

And I hate him because he's a fool and a coward and he tries to steal my wives." Those last words were so unexpected that I laughed. Then Ignifex raised an eyebrow and I realized that he was serious, at least as much as he ever was. "What? Don't tell me he hasn't kissed you yet. You're no Helen or Aphrodite, but you aren't plain." I remembered last night and my face went hot. Sure he could see the truth on my face, I blurted the first thing that came into my mind. "And you would know so much about women, locked up in your castle." "Locked up with eight wives. And sometimes I make house calls for my bargainers. There's many a lovely woman desperate enough to bargain with me." This idea had never occurred to me before. "You touch another woman and I'll cut your hands off," I snapped. He looked delighted. "I thought you were afraid of hurting me." There was nothing I could say without making it worse, so I glared at him until he laughed and said, "I've never struck that kind of bargain. Though it's nice to know you're jealous." I crossed my arms. The key hidden in the front of my dress dug into my skin, reminding me I was here for more than bickering. "How is Shade a coward?" I asked. "Now I'm jealous." "Don't worry, you're still the only one I want to kill. Why do you call him a fool and a coward if he's never been anything but your obedient shadow?" "He's plenty disobedient. Do you think I tell him to go around kissing my wives?" He caught at my chin. "They say that if you want a thing done well--" I slapped his hand away. "If he's just your shadow, isn't it ridiculous to compete with him? And how do you know he's a coward?" Ignifex's eyes widened a fraction. "He's a coward and a fool," he repeated distantly, as if he had learnt the words by rote. Then his gaze snapped back to me. "Why shouldn't I know my own shadow?" "He got better than you at kissing somehow," I said. "Don't you ever wonder how?

Should I also be glad of our unwanted guest?" "Unwanted?" Her eyes widened as her voice rose. "She's the goddess of love, fertility, beauty, and desire. Who could be more perfect for a wedding? Although..." She tapped her lush lips, considering. "She does have a bad side, but you can't blame her. Who wouldn't have issues if you'd been born from the sea foam created from Uranus's blood after his youngest son, Cronus, castrated him and threw his genitals into the sea?" The woman in pink choked on her food. The man with the goatee barked a laugh. Jay crossed his legs, although his family jewels weren't under threat. "She also had many adulterous affairs," Zara continued to her now rapt audience of singles. "Most notable with Ares. So maybe cutting off her head is a good thing." She lifted a forkful of biryani. "Did you know her name gave us the word aphrodisiac? Or that her Latin name, Venus, gave us the word venereal for venereal dis----" Jay cut her off with a raised hand. "Not something I really wanted to think about over a meal.

When a woman mediates beauty and grace to the world, often it is the Aphrodite or Venus energy at work.

A Memo from Aphrodite You are a rare and untouchable beauty And it hurts me more than you know That you give yourself toxic love Insted of allowing yourself to grow You look for love in others Before choosing to love yourself You pick people like they are figurines On your never-ending carousel I know love can be destructive I have seen the pain it's put you through So please give yourself real love first That is all I could ever ask of you

In the Phaedrus beauty and love act as the triggers to elicit the recollection of a host of different ideas; in the Symposium the nature of love itself is analyzed. Love is explained by Diotima as an intermediate nature connecting humans to the Gods, a daimôn conceived during the celebration among the Gods of the birth of Aphrodite (Symp. 203b ff.).

I can’t decide which version of you I prefer,” he said with that smirk. “There was something feral about your countenance last night, like you were a forest fairy set to bewitch us all…but now I see you this morning, and you are more beautiful than Aphrodite.

Her eyes glittered like the galaxies - a beauty beyond the blood of Aphrodite.

Whatever.” “I must see him!” Psyche insisted. “I must help him!” “Oh, now you want to help him. I’m his mother and I have it under control, thank you very much. As I was saying, the most important quality for a woman is beauty. I’ve been so busy caring for my son that I’ve run out of my famous magical beauty cream. I’ve used it all up, and I need some more.” “Wait…you tried to cure Eros with beauty cream?” “Duh!” Aphrodite rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I need more, but it’s out of stock at, like, every store, so I need a proper substitute. The only goddess who has cosmetics I can use without my face breaking out is Persephone.” “The queen of the Underworld?” Psyche’s knees shook. “You—you want me to—” “Yes.” Aphrodite savored the fear in Psyche’s eyes. “Pop down to the Underworld and ask Persephone

Whatever.” “I must see him!” Psyche insisted. “I must help him!” “Oh, now you want to help him. I’m his mother and I have it under control, thank you very much. As I was saying, the most important quality for a woman is beauty. I’ve been so busy caring for my son that I’ve run out of my famous magical beauty cream. I’ve used it all up, and I need some more.” “Wait…you tried to cure Eros with beauty cream?” “Duh!” Aphrodite rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I need more, but it’s out of stock at, like, every store, so I need a proper substitute. The only goddess who has cosmetics I can use without my face breaking out is Persephone.” “The queen of the Underworld?” Psyche’s knees shook. “You—you want me to—” “Yes.” Aphrodite savored the fear in Psyche’s eyes. “Pop down to the Underworld and ask Persephone if I can borrow a little of her beauty cream. You can put it in this.” The goddess snapped her fingers. A polished rosewood box with golden filigree appeared in Psyche’s hands. “Last chance to give up and go into exile.” Psyche did her best to hide her misery. “No. I’d rather die trying to win back Eros’s love than give up. I’ll get you your beauty cream.” “Make sure it’s the unscented kind,” Aphrodite said. “Hypoallergenic. And hurry. There’s a new play on Mount Olympus tonight. I need to get ready.” Psyche trudged out of the palace on her final quest.

She has beauty elegance and grace She looks mysterious and beautiful Like Aphrodite born out of foam Walking out of the ocean She looks perfect But she is not for me I have my Queen

I challenge you, then." Ares raised a closed fist, as did Hephaestus. As Heph and Ares played Rock, Scissors, Paper over who had the honor of paying her debt, Aphrodite's chic façade switched between ethereal beauty and irritated bitch

Now, Aphrodite emerged from foam, remember? Foam love is a nice feeling, but just as superficial. When it’s gone, it’s gone, nothing remains. Always aim for the kind of love that comes from the deep.’ ‘I’m not in love!’ ‘Fine, but when you are, just remember, foam love is interested in foam beauty. Sea love seeks sea beauty. And you, my heart, deserve sea love, the strong and profound and enchanting type.

The Song of the Swan and the Raven They called themselves poets, They were great grammarians, They spoke very well with their mouths, But, They didn't speak with their hearts, And the princess Sought the Alpine Star, From the North, the South, The East and the West, But they did not find it, From the lands where men, Forgot their Love for War, And learned to love gold more, More than Love itself, Now, they lose wars and win Alms, And sell their Nordic and Mediterranean beauty, To be loved at the Altar of Aphrodite, But Aphrodite, Loved War and married the lame Blacksmith, Who gave her alms (of affection) And from the stolen Rose, From the Daughter of the King of Phoenicia, Taken to the Tropics, From the Sons of Caesar, To Tropical Lands, Was born a Scion of Hades, Who harbored darkness within, But also kept an infinite love, And he Looked at all this, And contemplated so many times, The Face of Medusa, That his gaze turned to Stone, Everything he couldn't see, And what became immobile, Moved everything else, Moved Georgios, Who listened to the soft music, Of Satyrs in Carnival, And blasphemed, Mocked and threw stones at those, Bacchantes, For the wine no longer inebriated, It became juice, Music, like Water, Needs to flow, For Bacchus of this land, Made it his Abode, And banished the other Gods, And said that in the Earthly Eden, There would only be drunkenness and indolence, And everyone was happy, But, they discovered that, Even in Bacchic Lands, One hears the Sad suffering, For in the Festivities, There was no joy, They were masked balls, In which everyone cried, But the masks showed joy, And Mirrors were placed on the walls, Narcissus, however, Refused to see his image, He knew that drowning again, In his own vanity, Would bring back the Apple, The golden apple, And the Goddesses, Would war, And there would be no more peace, In that Constant War, And we were made captives, Of drunkenness, Watched and Hounded, For, The King's Face was Guarded, Cured of Leprosy, But, His disease was Love, The love for those Christians, Who no longer believed in God, The priests who lost Faith, The Daughters of Eve who choked, On the apple, And the sons of Adam, Who in the deepest cave of Erebus, Were bound, And seeing the shadow of distant lights, Were blinded, And even if, Like Argos, They had a hundred eyes, They would see nothing, Beyond what their scant minds, And their scant hearts, Were incapable of Beholding.

The Peacock & The Eagle: Cleopatra's Entry Into Tarsus by Stewart Stafford Cleopatra arrives, regal and mighty, From ocean spray as Aphrodite, Wealthy and waif, yearning for her, Dared all to defy her possessive aura. Mark Antony, struck by her sultry gaze, Lepidus, prisoner in a bureaucrat's maze, Sees power slipping from a friend’s hand, Ensnared by a siren from a scorched land. Lepidus was Caesar's trusted right hand; A granule falling through hourglass sand, Antony, headstrong military provocateur; Funeral orator from bloody crown auteur. Bargain's scorpion pincers; no longer twain: Cleopatra was Ceres, promising Rome grain, Antony was Mars' armed emissary, Business and pleasure's flood tributary. Antony: "Barge of emerald, Elysium's onyx! Beyond counsel words of sage sardonic, Gliding the Cydnus's silken seam, This Nile Helen shall be my queen." Lepidus: "Pleasure vessel of a floating whore, Yours for a sesterce on the Tiber's shore, Honour your oath, noble Roman creed, Lest passion’s shipwreck sets out to sea.” "This Venus virago on her mirage barge; Serpent prow, silver oars, rhythmic charge! What hubris to think she can equal, The bloody talons of our Roman eagle!" Antony: "Feast your eyes past peacock's bower, She speaks Rome's tongue of naked power. Mark it, that obsidian Sphinx stings - Human head, lion's body, eagle wings! "That is the form she takes to the public: I smell a perfumed alliance for the Republic! With Plebeians as her tickled cats, they hum, I crave her beauty and company. Come!" © 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.

Sea-foam tumbles onto the shore, claiming me gently in the way I've always craved. The ocean gathers me, carrying me over the surface like Cleopatra--- and I, every ounce as lovely as her and Aphrodite combined. Bit by bit the water swallows me, gently nipping at my skin until I dissolve into an aquatic spirit. Only then do I understand the language of angelfish and squid, and I move just as languidly. The sirens gape at me with their jewel-bright eyes and try to steal me as their own. But before I can be taken by those curious witches, I rise to the surface again. Everything glimmers here. I embrace the dusk with a hopeful smile. The sky blends into a watercolor of pastels and ambrosial stars. It's an aurora borealis of magenta and lavender, tempting me into the forest and away from the safety of the shore. Something's in the wind. I can feel it--- like the twinkling stars will finally lead me to the love I desire. I want it more than anything. The thought of it turns me feral, like a vampiress thirsty for a drop of blood. I dart through the forest, trailing a path of golden light. Past the evergreens and pines, underneath the moon, I become wild and free. Sweet summer fruit grows from trees, ripe and sparkling. With every cautious step I take, the flowers blossom. But they don't just grow. They glow. Ultraviolet irises, sugar-dusted peonies, and iridescent rosebuds unravel beneath my feet. Foxgloves bloom like trumpets, playing a regal procession beside twinkling bluebells. As I journey deeper into the forest, fireflies circle me, illuminating my path. And then I see him. I blink. He's awfully familiar, but I can't place my finger on who he is. He's beautiful. A boy with white-blond hair and viridescent eyes. Where have I seen him before? "Hello, Lila," he says. I stumble back. "How do you know my name?" He's peculiar. So unbelievably enchanting. I'm enthralled by the sound of his voice alone. "Don't be scared. You're safe here. I wanted to bring you somewhere special. Somewhere where you can make the forest beautiful with your dance." My dance. Of course, my dance. Witchlight flickers in his eyes. This world is meant for me. A gift wrapped up in velvet petals and sweet perfumes.

I’m Karen, daughter of Hermes,” Karen recited proudly. She took another bite of the roll as if to rub it in. “Oh, and did he trick your mother into sleeping with him, or was it consensual?” I shot back, happy to have found a way to return the insult. Karen looked as though I slapped her in the face. To make matters worse, this section of the cafeteria fell silent, a natural lull in the conversation. I could feel dozens and dozens of eyes on me, but I kept my eyes on Karen, waiting for her response. Hermes was a God known for being a liar and mischief-maker. The insult shot true, and I would not back down. “My mother was one of Hermes’s most beautiful lovers,” Karen said as she leaned in, speaking sharp and low. “She was his favorite.” “Really?” I scoffed. “His most beautiful, huh? That’s quite an insult to Aphrodite, who he managed to woo and make love to. Because if your mother really was more beautiful than Aphrodite, I would get one of those 23 and Me kits and get your DNA checked.

A completely spiritual love, the devotee sees God, the innermost Self, as divinely beautiful and lovely, an Adonis or Aphrodite, to be loved with affections verging on the erotic. In this style of love, all conventions, reservations, hesitations and personal views are cast aside and an exclusive, potentially jealous, love cultivated. A gargantuan appetite, craving for the embrace of God, the experience of the Self, is evidenced, the need for spiritual experience replacing the need for physical gratification. Just as lovers locked in the throes of orgasm do not know inside or outside, or which body is which, the devotee in union with the Self sees no distinctions and experiences, only the sweetest bliss. (p. 91)

Love conquers all,” Aphrodite promised. “Look at Helen and Paris. Did they let anything come between them?” “Didn’t they start the Trojan War and get thousands of people killed?” “Pfft. That’s not the point. Follow your heart.” “But…I don’t know where it’s going. My heart, I mean.” She smiled sympathetically. She really was beautiful. And not just because she had a pretty face or anything. She believed in love so much, it was impossible not to feel giddy when she talked about it. “Not knowing is half the fun,” Aphrodite said. “Exquisitely painful, isn’t it? Not being sure who you love and who loves you? Oh, you kids! It’s so cute I’m going to cry.

But doesn’t fairness also mean not showing favoritism to one group over another? [fave quote from page 128]

Later in the day, Holly frowned at her reflection in the mirror. “This can’t be right!” Holly muttered to herself. She looked like a cross between a panda bear and a raccoon. She had tried to apply a more advanced version of makeup than she was used to, and it was not going well. “Smokey eye, my foot! I look like I have two black eyes.” She had not done the proper shading with her eye shadow, and now her large green eyes were encased with a deep black color that spanned her entire eyelid. “Maybe I should try a different one,” Holly mused aloud. She sat in William’s bedroom at his dresser. She already had on her pretty crushed velvet black dress and a small heart-shaped diamond pendant. It had been William’s birthday gift to her last year. “Let me re-read this article again to see if I can make sense of these instructions.” Holly read her magazine article out loud. “Which Greek Goddess are you? Athena, Venus, or Aphrodite? Check out our makeup tips below to turn heads at your next event!” “Hmmmm, that sounds soooooo good, if only I was better at applying makeup.” She had decided to try their Aphrodite look and had been trying to apply the eyeliner to give her a smoky eye effect. Holly had to wash her face four times already and start over because each time was worse than the last. “Concentrate, Holly, or you’ll be late for the gala. This is your last chance; it’s do or die time!” she warned her reflection in the mirror. “So, it says to put the light grey eyeshadow on the inner one-third of my eyelids. Hmmm, maybe that’s the problem. I don’t know where the inner third is.” She got an idea and went to William’s desk. Looking around, she found a ruler. “Ah-ha! Eureka, I got it!” She went back to her position at his dresser and closed her eyes for a quick, small prayer, then held the ruler up to measure her eye. “Ah-ha! Twenty-one millimeters. So, that means the inner one-third of my eye must be from my nose out seven millimeters . . . right about HERE!” Holly expertly applied the light grey eye shadow to the inner third of her eyelids. “What a big improvement already! Wow! I’m not a panda bear anymore! Ok, one-third down, two-thirds to go . . . I can do this!” Reading further, she said, “Ok, now apply the dark grey eye shadow to the next third of your eye, finishing with the dark brown eye shadow on the outer third of your eyelid.” Holly expertly followed the instructions and sat back in her chair, stunned. She looked beautiful! She had achieved the desired effect, and now her green eyes were enhanced to perfection. “Wow, wow, wow!” Holly felt encouraged to keep going. She read the next instructions. “‘Now, apply blush to your face with an emphasis on contouring your cheekbones.’” “‘Contouring my cheekbones? Who do they think I am, Rembrandt?” Holly said with a groan. Holly gingerly picked up her blush container as if it were about to bite her. She decided another quick prayer wouldn’t go amiss. With a deep breath she muttered, “Ok, I’m going in!” She glanced nervously at the picture in the magazine and tried her hardest to follow it along her cheekbones. “That turned out pretty good!” Holly turned her face this way and that, examining it. It may not have been exactly as in the picture, but the blush now accentuated her beautiful high cheekbones. “Whew! Only the lip left, thank goodness! You got this, Holly!” She encouraged her reflection in the mirror.

Paris had heard of Helen of Sparta’s beauty, and though she was married to the warlike Menelaus, he immediately consented to awarding Aphrodite the apple. “Discord” was brought to the Mediterranean. 10 years later, the world was still feeling the effects of Aphrodite’s actions and Menelaus’s response. The Greeks and Trojans had been well matched, and the Greeks just could not bring down the magnificent walls of Troy. Then Agamemnon’s insult to Achilles tipped the balance in favour of the Trojans, and the gods found themselves embroiled in the mire too. Hera and Athena, still furious at Paris’s decision, chose to side with the Greeks, whereas Aphrodite sided with Paris’s countrymen.

Thomas glanced back at the stairs, excited nerves leaping in his stomach. “Is Eliza coming?” After the words escaped his mouth he realized how comical he sounded. Of course she was coming. “I mean to say, is Eliza ready?” A wide grin washed over Kitty’s face, as if she were hiding something. “She’ll be down shortly.” Thomas nodded and rested his fidgety hands on the back of the embroidered chair. Nathaniel led Kitty to the other seat and helped her to sit. At that moment, the dainty tap of Eliza’s shoes on the stairs forced Thomas to whirl around. Nathaniel came up behind him. “Steady, boy.” Thomas clenched his jaw to keep it from gaping and dropped his hands to his sides. His eyes traced Eliza’s dainty form. She was even more radiant in that gown than he’d imagined and her face glittered with the most magnificent smile he’d ever seen. The fitted gown accentuated her perfect curves and impossibly tiny waist. The white lace around the neckline tickled her creamy skin, while the dusty-pink color drew out the rosy nature of her cheeks and lips. He tried, but he couldn’t stop staring. Her hair was curled like Kitty’s and wrapped with a delicate ribbon that matched the color of her gown. Her creamy complexion and the velvety look of her long neck were so enticing he had to fight the sudden urge to taste it. Eliza curtsied low and dipped her head. Upon rising she lifted her lashes and spoke to him in a tantalizing timbre. “Good evening, Thomas.” Thomas’s heart beat with such profound strength, it ripped every word from his mind. He wanted to say how beautiful she was. He wanted to tell her he was sorry for keeping his distance when she needed him. Even more than that, he wanted to move his face near hers, and inhale her graceful rose scent deep into his lungs before tasting her lips once again. Every appropriate response fled his mind as his blood raced around his body. He bowed. “Good evening, Eliza.” “Do my eyes deceive me?” Nathaniel, back to his charismatic self, pushed Thomas aside and kissed Eliza’s hand as he bowed with dramatic flare. “You are even more alluring than Aphrodite herself, my dear.” Eliza smiled again and giggled low in her throat. “You are too generous, Doctor.” “I am too enamored. You and your sister shine like the stars themselves.” A hearty grin flashed across his proud face. “Shall we go in to dinner?” He took his place beside Kitty and sent a flashing glance to Thomas, no doubt intended to instruct him to make the most of the moment. Thomas could kill himself. Good evening? That’s all he could say? Eliza’s body faced away from him, but she turned in his direction and the rest of her followed, her gown sweeping across the floor. Thomas closed the space between them, offering his arm. “Shall we go in?” Her slender hand grasped his arm. “You look very nice this evening, Thomas.” Thomas’s tongue dried up in his mouth, shriveling his ability to speak. He could never compete with Nathaniel’s theatrical praises. He’d have to just say what he thought. “You’re a vision, Eliza.” Her

Hermes, the darling of the gods, had a son, and Aphrodite, the divine beauty, a daughter. The two children were perfect models of beauty. Yet they had never seen each other before when one day they confronted each other in the Wood of the Gods. The girl was immediately enamoured of the boy; but the boy fled from her. However fast she ran after him, he ran faster still. In despair the divine maiden turned to Zeus and bewailed to him her love torment. ‘I love him, father, but he has fled from me. He will have nothing to do with me. Oh, father, grant that I become one with him.’ And Zeus heard the prayer of the divine child, and he raised his arm, and the next moment the shy son of Hermes stood before the Olympian, and Aphrodite’s daughter shouted with glee and embraced the trembling youngster. Again Zeus raised his arm – whereupon both melted into each other. When Hermes and Aphrodite sought after their children, they found a blissfully smiling divine child. ‘It is my son!’ cried Hermes. ‘No, it is my daughter!’ cried Aphrodite. They were both right.

The following, then, were the daughters of Nereus:{157} Ploto, “the swimmer”; Eukrante, “the bringer of fulfilment”; Sao, “the rescuer”; Amphitrite (who, as I shall later tell, became the wife of Poseidon); Eudora, “she of good gifts”; Thetis (of whom I have spoken and shall speak again); Galene, “calm weather”; Glauke, “the sea-green”; Kymothoe, “the wave-swift”; Speio, “the dweller in caves”; Thoe, “the nimble”; Halia, “the dweller in the sea”; Pasithea; Erato, “the awakener of desire” (which is the name also of one of the Muses); Eunike, “she of happy victory”; Melite; Eulimene, “she of good haven”; Agaue, “the noble”; Doto, “the giver”; Proto, “the first”; Pherousa, “the bringer”; Dynamene; Nesaia, “the dweller on islands”; Aktaia, “the dweller on coasts”; Protomedeia, “the first ruleress”; Doris (who, like Eudora, whose name has the same meaning, is also one of the Okeaninai); Panopeia; Galateia (that Aphrodite-like sea-goddess who was wooed by the Kyklops Polyphemos—the enemy, later on, of Odysseus—and was loved by the beautiful Akis); Hippothoe, “swift as a mare”; Hipponoe, “unruly as a mare”; Kymodoke, “the wave-gatherer”; Kymatolege, “the wave-stiller”; Kymo, “the wave-goddess”; Eione, “the snore-goddess”; Halimede, “the sea-goddess of good counsel”; Glaukonome, “the dweller in the green sea”; Pontopereia, “the seafarer”; Leiagora and Euagora, “the eloquent”; Laomedeia, “ruleress of the people”; Polynoe, “giver of reason”; Autonoe, “giver of inspiration”; Lysianassa, “the redeeming mistress”; Euarne; Psamathe, “the sand-goddess”; Menippe, “the courageous mare”; Neso, “the island-goddess”; Eupompe, “she of good escort”; Themisto (a sort of double of the great goddess Themis); Pronoe, “the provident”; and Nemertes, “the truthful”, who in knowing and telling the truth resembles her immortal father.

We dare not be original; our American Pine must be cut to the trim pattern of the English Yew, though the Pine bleed at every clip. This poet tunes his lyre at the harp of Goethe, Milton, Pope, or Tennyson. His songs might better be sung on the Rhine than the Kennebec. They are not American in form or feeling; they have not the breath of our air; the smell of our ground is not in them. Hence our poet seems cold and poor. He loves the old mythology; talks about Pluto—the Greek devil,—— the Fates and Furies—witches of old time in Greece,—-but would blush to use our mythology, or breathe the name in verse of our Devil, or our own Witches, lest he should be thought to believe what he wrote. The mother and sisters, who with many a pinch and pain sent the hopeful boyto college, must turn over the Classical Dictionary before they can find out what the youth would be at in his rhymes. Our Poet is not deep enough to see that Aphrodite came from the ordinary waters, that Homer only hitched into rhythm and furnished the accomplishment of verse to street talk, nursery tales, and old men’s gossip, in the Ionian towns; he thinks what is common is unclean. So he sings of Corinth and Athens, which he never saw, but has not a word to say of Boston, and Fall River, and Baltimore, and New York, which are just as meet for song. He raves of Thermopylae and Marathon, with never a word for Lexington and Bunkerhill, for Cowpens, and Lundy’s Lane, and Bemis’s Heights. He loves to tell of the Ilyssus, of “ smooth sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal reeds,” yet sings not of the Petapsco, the Susquehannah, the Aroostook, and the Willimantick. He prates of the narcissus, and the daisy, never of American dandelions andbue-eyed grass; he dwells on the lark and the nightingale, but has not a thought for the brown thrasher and the bobolink, who every morning in June rain down such showers of melody on his affected head. What a lesson Burns teaches us addressing his “rough bur thistle,” his daisy, “wee crimson tippit thing,” and finding marvellous poetry in the mouse whose nest his plough turned over! Nay, how beautifully has even our sweet Poet sung of our own Green river, our waterfowl,of the blue and fringed gentian, the glory of autumnal days.

Sometimes, as was the case with the bust of Aphrodite in Athens, the statues appear to have been ‘baptized’, with deep crosses gouged on their foreheads. If this was a ‘baptism’ then it may have helped not only to neutralize the devil within, but also to vanquish any more personal demons that could arise when looking at such beautiful naked figures. A naked statue of Aphrodite was, wrote one Christian historian in disgust, ‘more shameless than that of any prostitute standing in front of a brothel’ – and, like a prostitute, Aphrodite and her plump bottom and naked breasts might incite the demon of lust in the viewer. Far less easy to feel desire for a statue who has had a cross gouged in her head, her eyes blinded and her nose sliced from her face. Erotically appealing statues suffered more than chastely clothed ones. We can still see the consequences of this rhetoric. Today, a once-handsome Apollo missing a nose stands in this museum; a statue of Venus that stood in a bathhouse has had her nipples and mons pubis chiselled away; a statue of Dionysus has had his nose mutilated and his genitalia removed.

Who is Adrestia?” Ethan put his arm around her shoulders and tucked her into his side, careful not to touch her face. His fingers were still laced in hers and Mika studied their hands, wondering if she would ever be able to do this without all these layers between them. “She is the daughter of Ares and Aphrodite,” Ethan told her, running his thumb over her shoulder in a soothing pattern. “She would go into war with Ares – ‘she who none can escape.’ The goddess of revenge and retribution – she is the equilibrium, the balance between good and evil, and so beautiful that gods and titans fought over her.