In his autumn before the winter comes mans last mad surge of youth.
Think again, Electra. Don’t say anymore. Don’t you see what you’re doing? You make your own pain. Why keep wounding yourself? With so much evil stored up in that cold dark soul of yours you breed enemies everywhere you touch.
I am free! for I have in me the strength of truth.
Not from Hades’ black and universal lake can you lift him. Not by groaning, not by prayers. Yet you run yourself out in a grief with no cure, no time-limit, no measure. It is a knot no one can untie. Why are you so in love with things unbearable?
Death the deliverer freeth all at last.
I will not live by rules like those.
What a splendid king you’d make of a desert island – you and you alone.
I don’t even exist – I’m no one. Nothing.
Thou lov’st to speak in riddles and dark words.
Oh my love take me there. Let me dwell where you are. I am already nothing, I am already burning. Oh my love, I was once part of you – take me too!
What an ugly, loveless life for a girl.
Of all ill, Self-chosen sorrows are the worst to bear.
I know that you are deathly sick; and yet, sick as you are, not one is as sick as I.
Friendship is a tension. It makes delicate demands.
By God, I’ll have more booty in a moment.
Comply, and fear not, for my load of woe Is incommunicable to all but me.
I live in a place of tears.
Shame I do feel. And I know there is something all wrong about me – believe me. Sometimes I shock myself.
For if any man thinks that he is alone is wise – that in speech, or in mind, he hath no peer – such a soul, when laid open, is ever found empty.
But if I am young, thou shouldest look to my merits, not to my years.