Out of some little thing, too free a tongue can make an outrageous wrangle.
The man that isn’t jolly after drinking is just a drivelling idiot, to my thinking.
Fortune always will confer an aura of worth, unworthily; and in this world The lucky person passes for a genius.
Who knows but life be that which men call death, And death what men call life?
Come back. Even as a shadow, even as a dream.
For in other ways a woman is full of fear, defenseless, dreads the sight of cold steel; but, when once she is wronged in the matter of love, no other soul can hold so many thoughts of blood.
To me, a wicked man who is also eloquent seems the most guilty of them all. He’ll cut your throat as bold as brass, because he can dress up murder in handsome words.
I will storm the Gods and shake the Universe.
You don’t know what your life is, nor what you’re doing, nor who you are.
O what will she do, a soul bitten into with wrong?
Not yet do you feel it. Wait for the future.
By Hecate, the goddess I worship more than all the others, the one I choose to help me in this work, who lives with me deep inside my home, these people won’t bring pain into my heart and laugh about it.
I am nothing but words, just a shape of dreams or night.
Amongst mortals no man is happy; wealth may pour in and make one luckier than another, but none can happy be.
He loves power. A terrible love.
Let no one think me a weak one, feeble-spirited, A stay-at-home, but rather just the opposite, One who can hurt my enemies and help my friends; For the lives of such persons are most remembered.
You have the skill. What is more, you were born a woman, And women, though most helpless in doing good deeds, Are of every evil the cleverest of contrivers.
Isn’t it delightful to forget how old we are?
Yes, blood for blood, his bitter loan came due. He paid with death.
Of most dreadful suffering, I am the cause.