The dead alone can feel no touch of spite.
In his den the monster keep, Giver of eternal sleep.
The penalty is death: yet hope of gain Hath lured men to their ruin oftentimes.
Alas! How sad when reasoners reason wrong.
What woe is lacking to my tale of woes?
All my love gone for nothing. Days of my love, years of my love.
It is not in words that I should wish my life to be distinguished, but rather in things done.
I well believe it, to unwilling ears; None love the messenger who brings bad news.
Rose the joint evil that is now o’erflowing. And the old happiness in that past day Was truly happy, but the present hour Hath pain, crime, ruin: – whatsoe’er of ill Mankind have named, not one is absent here.
None but a fool or an infant could forget a father gone so far and cold. No. Lament is a pattern cut and fitted around my mind – like the bird who calls Itys! Itys! endlessly, bird of grief, angel of Zeus. O heartdragging Niobe, I count you a god: buried in rock yet always you weep.
Do I not live? Badly, I know, but I live.
Never at my hands will the traitor be honored above the patriot. But whoever proves his loyalty to the state–I’ll prize that man in death as well as life.
He has the thousand-yard stare.
By dread things I am compelled. I know that. I see the trap closing. I know what I am. But while life is in me I will not stop this violence. No. Oh my friends who is there to comfort me? Who understands? Leave me be, let me go, do not soothe me. This is a knot no one can untie. There will be no rest, there is no retrieval. No number exists for griefs like these.
I am at the end. I exist no more.
But when a god sends harm, no man can sidestep it, no matter how strong he may be.
Thou wouldst make a good monarch of a desert.
Compassion limits even the power of God.
Therefore, while our eyes wait to see the destined final day, we must call no one happy who is of mortal race, until he has crossed life’s border, free from pain.
Thou seek’st to part us, wrapping in soft words Hard thoughts.