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我们身为女人的时间太短暂了。我们在很长一段时间里都是小姑娘，只能在少而又少的季节里保持女人的身份，那么快就做了母亲，浪费了无尽的时光来做个老妇人，浑身粉末，一直在空中抬起一只脚，犹豫着要不要沉没在死亡之海里。而且，如果把我们的育龄期和我们生存的时长相比，就会发现亡有限得令人厌恶。那些从我们性器官里出来的小生命，他们需要的照料既单调又粗浅。这就是为什么我认为：母亲和祖母的时间被过度拉长了，长得令它变得枯燥乏味、几近恶心。

— 眼泪 by 帕斯卡·基尼亚尔

But when I woke, sweaty and terror-stricken, the moon would be bright on the water outside and I could hear the lick of the waves against the shore. In the dim light I saw his easy breathing, the drowsy tangle of his limbs. In spite of myself, my pulse slowed. There was vividness to him, even at rest, that made death and spirits seem foolish. After a time, I found I could sleep again. Time after that, the dreams lessened, and dropped away.

— The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller (Page 40)