Quotes from Aeschylus

Old age hath stronger sense of right than youth.

Obedience is the mother of success, and the wife of security.

Ask the gods nothing excessive.

Respect the altar of Justice and do not, looking to profit, dishonor it by spurning with godless foot; for punishment will come upon you.

For wide, ah! wide is the woe when the foeman has mounted the wall; There is havoc and terror and flame, and the dark smoke broods over all, And wild is the war-god's breath, as in frenzy of conquest he springs, And pollutes with the blast of his lips the glory of holiest things!

No one can count the terrors that the earth spawns, catastrophic, gruesome, and the vast arms of the sea swarm with brute monsters bent on harm, and everywhere between the sky and ground lights bloom by day in flares and sudden bolts; and birds and beasts alike can tell of the whirlwind's whirling wrath.

Nor does night conceal men's deeds of ill, but whatsoe'er thou dost, think that some God beholds it.

On me the tempest falls. It does not make me tremble. O holy Mother Earth, O air and sun, behold me. I am wronged.

Jars neither of wine nor of water shall fail in the houses of the rich.

Watchful are the Gods of all Hands with slaughter stained. The black Furies wait, and when a man Has grown by luck, not justice, great, With sudden overturn of chance They wear him to a shade, and, cast Down to perdition, who shall save him?

The man who does ill, ill must suffer too.

Some are lapped in night, where all things are undone.

Death hath a fairer fame than a life of toil.

Thou needs must spit it out and make clean thy mouth.

The burning gaze of a young woman, such as hath tasted man, shall not escape me; for I have a spirit keen to mark these things.

Words are the parents of a causeless wrath.

Woe, woe for the doom that shall be--as in grasp of the foeman they fare! For a woe and a weeping it is, if the maiden inviolate flower Is plucked by the foe in his might, not culled in the bridal bower!

And all the country echoeth with the moan, And poureth many a tear For that magnific power Of ancient days far-seen that thou didst share With those of one blood sprung; And all the mortal men who hold the plain Of holy Asia as their land of sojourn, They grieve in sympathy For thy woes lamentable.

Ye waves That o'er th' interminable ocean wreathe Your crisped smiles.

Night, o my mother, from whose womb I took my being.

Fear ye not The wrath of any man, nor hide your word Within your breast: the day of death and doom Awaits alike the freeman and the slave.

For wherein is life sweet to him who suffers grief?

A people's wrath voiced abroad bringeth grave Danger, no less than public curse pronounced.

Truly even he errs that is wiser than the wise.