Zagreus Quotes

mi se deschide privirea văd o altă lume în groapă mă vizitează strămoșii în groapă apollo, zagreus, pan, zamolxis,nietzsche și poate în sfârșit voi muri de fericire

For him, too, starting over, departures, a new life had a certain luster, but he knew that only the impotent and the lazy attach happiness to such things. Happiness implied a choice, and within that choice a concerted will, a lucid desire. He could hear Zagreus: "Not the will to renounce, but the will to happiness.

So many evenings had promised him happiness that to experience this one as happiness itself made him realize how far he had come, from hope to conquest. In the innocence of his heart, Mersault accepted this green sky and love soaked earth with the same thrill of passion and desire as when he had killed Zagreus in the innocence of his heart

Happiness implied a choice, and within that choice a concerted will, a lucid desire. He could hear Zagreus: 'Not the will to renounce, but the will to happiness

So that the vines burst from my fingers And the bees weighted with pollen Move heavily in the vine-shoots: chirr---chirr---chir-rikk---a purring sound, And the birds sleepily in the branches. ZAGREUS! IO ZAGREUS!

Sabazios is a very specific god in his own right who became conflated with Zagreus, the local horned deity of Crete. Certainly there appears to have been a presence of a Dionysian current in Minoan Crete before the arrival of Sabazios, particularly in terms of tauromorphic (bull-formed) imagery; and in the epic Dionysiaca the poet Nonnus describes this Zagreus as the ‘former Dionysos’, suggesting that Zagreus represented the Dionysian current before the Mycenaean Greeks took over Minoan Crete.

penance at their kneeling desks and anchorites bearing electro-generative monstrances; on, through the sound of melismatic antiphon and canticle welling from the mouthless choirs in chantry niches, screened by lace-pattern iconostases so they cannot catch sight of him and forget the words; past regiments of catachumen observants, seeking expiation and brimming with eucharistic ardour; along the walls of porphery and mica mosaic, frescoes of death’s-head putti and cackling ephebes that conceal hidden figures of alchemy; past engraved genealogies, and past the blazoned armorial hatchments of the twenty Legions, all but eight now shrouded in amaranthine drapes of mourning; past the iron tabernacles of the chimerical brethrendae composing, as rapidly and ceaselessly as they can, via feverish automatic writing, new variations of the material truth in a frantic effort to mediate and divert the impending bow wave of fate; past flocks of scurrying serfs and deferential abhumans, all blindfolded so they can remain present and sane at the same time, all rushing to deliver reports that no longer matter; past Zagreus Kane, the Fabricator-in-exile, with his coterie of adepts, weeping for the decimation of his battle engines, and plotting the deployment of the few that remain; past acres of empty marble floor where one day we will have to place tombs; past the great banners of liberty and victory that hang like waterfalls from the high walls every step of the nave’s six-kilometre length; beneath the vaulted gloom of the ceiling, wrought of Peruvian gold and tromp l’oeil and crystal mined on Enceladus, a ceiling a kilometre high; past the silent, waiting companies of the refulgent Custodes Pylorus who make their motionless vigil at the door, whispering their ever-mantra of by His will alone, to the ceramite and adamantine door itself, the Silver Door, the innermost gate of eternity.

I’m sorry, Zagreus, but it’s been a long time since I talked about certain things. So I don’t know any more—or I’m not sure. When I look at my life and its secret colors, I feel like bursting into tears. Like that sky. It’s rain and sun both, noon and midnight. You know, Zagreus, I think of the lips I’ve kissed, and of the wretched child I was, and of the madness of life and the ambition that sometimes carries me away. I’m all those things at once. I’m sure there are times when you wouldn’t even recognize me. Extreme in misery, excessive in happiness—I can’t say it.