Be happy, beloved face of my great friend. For us that is impossible, but you can be-we dead lack any source of delight.
We are not subject to our own wills, our own desires. But to the fates and the fortunes that the gods hand to us. The future is turned before our eyes into wrenching heartache, into ashes and to splinters. From today I know that truly hope is dead. I ask you again, you who watch, how can there ever be any ending than this? First silence. Then darkness.
Why should you feel anger at the world? As if the world would notice.
What epitaph, I wonder, would a poet write for him?
My legs are trembling, but I won’t fall.
A free man? – There is no such thing! All men are slaves; some, slaves to money; some, of chance; others are forced, either by mass opinion, or threatening law, to act against their nature.
If women didn’t exist, human life would be rid of all its miseries.
ALCESTIS Translated by Theodore Alois Buckley.
Agamemnon, if you help this man, you help an impious, perjured, and polluted traitor, and by upholding evil soil you own fair name.
Bloodthirsty bitches.
Many matters the gods bring to surprising ends. The things we thought would happen do not happen; The unexpected God makes possible; And such is the conclusion of this story.
O black night, you who nurse he golden stars! In you I go, bearing this jar poised on my head, to fetch water from springs of rivers; not that any need pushes me to this point, but so I may show the gods the insolence of Aegisthus, and pour out my griefs under huge heaven to my father’s spirit. My mother, Tyndareos’ daughter, lost in wickedness, to show Aegisthus other sons, she treats me and O restes both s bastards of her house.
Terrible things breed in broken hearts. And I see in my mistress’ eyes a fury that wont be calmed.
A terrible thing it is to be a mother, and it bears a great endearment, and one common to all, so as to toil on behalf of their children.
O cruel Truth, is this thine home-coming?
And for thee, who didst me all that evil, I prophesy an evil doom.
Para mi quiero, antes que un rico, un Pobre que tenga un alma grande.
The stamp of royal birth is an unmistakable Miracle; and when those who bear a noble name Are worthy of it, the mircable is greater still.
If any man thinks wealth or power of greater worth To him who has them, than a good friend- he is mad.
Give me your hand; I’ll hold you... Then wipe off on me all your uncleanness, all; I do not shrink from it.
Wisdom lies in clarity.