“She’d looked so beautiful standing there, gazing out to sea. Crimson had once told him a tale about Sirens, magical creatures that lived on an island. Their songs lured mariners to their destruction – their ships were destroyed by the rocks surrounding the island. And even knowing that death awaited them, they couldn’t resist the lure of the Sirens’ song.”

“Her sound is a siren's song, calling me to the rocks.”

“Pleasure was a siren, luring her to experience more”

“Italy's siren call lures us more and more.”

“Socrates and Phaedrus, like Odysseus, must sail by the Sirens without being enchanted: instead of listening to their voices, they will outdo them with their own logos. . . . Plato's Odysseus does not even let the song of the Sirens enter him but deafens it with his own rational discourse. Philosophy is itself a Sirens' song, the antidote against the dispersion and drowning of the soul into the body, that is, against the ultimate wandering.”

“4. The whole Icarus-flying-too-near-the-sun-and-plummeting-out-of-the-sky thing? That's real. Same with the Sirens who lure you to death with their irresistible song, and the odalisque so beautiful anyone who looks at her dies. And remember: as badass as Grendel was, Beowulf hadn't seen anything until he went up against Grendel's mother. I know, I know - I thought they were just myths too. But the fact is, sometimes, if you don't want to meet a tragic end, your only option is to avert your gaze, tie yourself to the mast with cotton in your ears, or ascend a little less close to the Vault of Heaven.”