My nails are broken, my fingers are bleeding, my arms are covered with the welts left by the paws of your guards – but I am a queen!
We long to have again the vanished past, in spite of all its pain.
I ask this one thing: let me go mad in my own way.
It is the dead, not the living, who make the longest demands.
Yes it will be a grace if I die. To exist is pain. Life is no desire of mine anymore.
There is a kind of excellence in me and you – born in us – and it cannot live in shame.
You chose to live, I chose to die.
King as thou art, free speech at least is mine. To make reply; in this I am thy peer.
Whose tale more sad than thine, whose lot more dire? O Oedipus, discrowned head, Thy cradle was thy marriage bed.
You’re dreaming, girl, lost in a moving dream.
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!