“Thus did the Holy Harlots unhinge the brains of man,
and when they met and clashed with the pure Mountain Maidens,
they raised their white arms high, their armpits smelled of musk,
and, as the rites decreed, both fought their verbal war:
"God swoops from mountain peeks to eat and play on earth;
we are his food and drink and even his sacred toys —
and learn, O sterile maids, we are his soft, sweet mates.
Let her now leave who fears to merge with her dread God!"
The scornful savage mouth of Krino flashed reply:
"We will not leave! We guard the innocent soul of man!
God is a spirit with pure white wings, a soul that sails,
light, disembodied, deep in our thoughts, without embrace.
It's we who keep the world in bloom with virgin souls!"”

From the Bull Ritual, Book VI, line 197
The Odyssey : A Modern Sequel (1938)

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Nikos Kazantzakis222

Greek writer 1883–1957

Lisa Kleypas (1964) American writer

Source: Where Dreams Begin

“This mountain of a man was learning that his considerable might- which he'd clearly relied on for- was futile with her.”

Kresley Cole American writer

Source: Dark Needs at Night's Edge

“The man that mates wi’ Poverty
An’ clasps her tae his banes,
Will faither lean an’ lively thochts,
A host o’ eident weans.”

Helen Cruickshank (1886–1975) British poet

Comfort in Puirtith

“No sound doth great the still of night;
My mother land in silence lies;
Yet oft is heard an anguished moan
As Georgia in her slumber sighs. I stand alone … the mountains, shades
The slumber of my land caress.
O God! O God! when will we wake
And rise again to happiness?”

Ilia Chavchavadze (1837–1907) Georgian poet and politician; a saint of Georgian Orthodox Church

Elegy, p. 60
Anthology of Georgian Poetry (1948)

“Raise a song for her, O Muse!
The violet-crownèd maiden,
And praise her soft throat's changing hues,
Her low voice, laughter-laden. Sing yet again her thousand charms,
Her eyes entrancing splendour,
Her swarthy cheeks and supple arms
And bosom dark and tender. Yea, sing forevermore of her,
My mistress soft-beguiling,
Fairest of all who are, or were,
My Sappho, sweetly-smiling.”

Alcaeus of Mytilene (-600–-560 BC) ancient Greek poet

"No More for Lycus", as translated by James S. Easby-Smith

“…she kept her arm raised and thus allowed me to observe her armpit, and when a naked woman allows you to do that, uncovering one or both, it's as if she were offering up to you an additional nakedness.”

Javier Marías book Tu rostro mañana

...al mantener el brazo en alto me permitió contemplar su axila, y cuando una mujer desnuda permite ver eso, y descubre una o ambas, es como si ofreciera un suplemento de desnudez con ello.
Source: Tu rostro mañana, 1. Fiebre y lanza [Your Face Tomorrow, Vol. 1: Fever and Spear] (2002), p. 269