Aegean Islands 1940-41Where white stares, smokes or breaks, Thread white, white of plaster and of foam, Where sea like a wall falls;Ribbed, lionfish coast, The stony islands which blow into my mind More often than I imagine my grassy home;To sun one's bones beside the Explosive, crushed-blue, nostril-opening sea (The weaving sea, splintered with sails and foam, Familiar of famous and deserted harbors, Of coins with dolphins on and fallen pillars.) To know the gear and skill of sailing, The drenching race for home and the sail-white houses, Stories of Turks and smoky ions, Cry of the bagpipe, treading Of the peasant dancers;The dark breadth island wine and the sweet dishes;All these were elements in a happiness More distant now than any date like '40,A. D. or B. C., ever can express.

— Bernard Spencer

My whore of a brother has done it again." "Then, as always, orders me to clean up the mess." "I think I hate him." Poseidon to his brother, Zeus.

— Yelle Hughes