Like the sweet apple which reddens upon the topmost bough, at the very topmost top – the apple-gatherers have forgotten it – no, not forgotten it, but they could not reach it.
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"May I write words more naked than flesh, stronger than bone, more resilient than sinew, sensitive than nerve."
"Truly, I wish I were dead. She was weeping when she left me, and said many things to me, and said this: 'How much we have suffered, Sappho. Truly, I don't want to leave you.'"
"I don't know what to do: I am of two minds."
"I have no complaint... prosperity that the golden Muses gave me was no delusion: dead, I won't be forgotten."
"Death must be an evil and the gods agree; for why else would they live for ever?"
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