Agamemnon Quotes in The Silence of the Girls
This is what free people never understand. A slave isn’t a person who’s being treated as a thing. A slave is a thing, as much in her own estimation as in anybody else’s.
Everybody in the arena was moved by the old man’s tears—and by the size of the ransom he’d brought with him. Sentiment and greed—the Greeks love a sentimental story almost as much as they love gold.
“None of that gives him the right to take another man’s prize of honour. It doesn’t belong to him; he hasn’t earnt it.”
There was a lot more, but I’d stopped listening. Honour, courage, loyalty, reputation—all those big words being bandied about—but for me there was only one word, one very small word: it.
I was Helen now.
What I came away with was a sense of Helen seizing control of her own story. She was so isolated in that city, so powerless—even at my age, I could see that—and those tapestries were a way of saying: I’m here. Me. A person, not just an object to be looked at and fought over.
This isn’t about you.
I heard Odysseus talking as I approached, laughing at the idea that Agamemnon hadn’t laid a finger on me. “It’s not his finger I’m worried about,” he sniggered. Then he caught sight of me and snapped, “Where’s your veil?”
“I might just get his knife in my guts.”
Nestor smiled. “Not you.”
“You’re sure about that, are you? I wish I was. But, then, I know what it’s like to kill a friend and spend the rest of your life regretting it.”
Agamemnon Quotes in The Silence of the Girls
This is what free people never understand. A slave isn’t a person who’s being treated as a thing. A slave is a thing, as much in her own estimation as in anybody else’s.
Everybody in the arena was moved by the old man’s tears—and by the size of the ransom he’d brought with him. Sentiment and greed—the Greeks love a sentimental story almost as much as they love gold.
“None of that gives him the right to take another man’s prize of honour. It doesn’t belong to him; he hasn’t earnt it.”
There was a lot more, but I’d stopped listening. Honour, courage, loyalty, reputation—all those big words being bandied about—but for me there was only one word, one very small word: it.
I was Helen now.
What I came away with was a sense of Helen seizing control of her own story. She was so isolated in that city, so powerless—even at my age, I could see that—and those tapestries were a way of saying: I’m here. Me. A person, not just an object to be looked at and fought over.
This isn’t about you.
I heard Odysseus talking as I approached, laughing at the idea that Agamemnon hadn’t laid a finger on me. “It’s not his finger I’m worried about,” he sniggered. Then he caught sight of me and snapped, “Where’s your veil?”
“I might just get his knife in my guts.”
Nestor smiled. “Not you.”
“You’re sure about that, are you? I wish I was. But, then, I know what it’s like to kill a friend and spend the rest of your life regretting it.”