Quotes from Sophocles

Time, sweeping through its rounds, gives birth to infinite nights and days...

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.

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.

Comply, and fear not, for my load of woe Is incommunicable to all but me.

So here I am, against my will and yours too, well I know-- no one wants the man who brings bad news.

Mad are thy subjects all, and even the wisest heart Straight to folly will fall, at a touch of thy poisoned dart.

it reels under a wild storm of blood, wave after wave battering Thebes.

Good advice, if there's any good in suffering. Quickest is best when trouble blocks the way.

They see you and me: they know my pain's a fact, my revenge is empty breath.

Alas! how terrible it is to know, Where no good comes of knowing!

All things the long and countless years first draw from darkness, then bury from light; and there is nothing for which man may not look. The dreaded oath is vanquished, and the stubborn will.

Sister, forbear, or I shall hate thee soon, And the dead man will hate thee too, with cause. Say I am mad and give my madness rein To wreck itself; the worst that can befall Is but to die an honorable death.   ISMENE

Creon: See that you never side with those who break my orders. Leader: Never. Only a fool could be in love with death. Creon: Death is the price - you're right. But all too often the mere hope of money has ruined many men.

The dead alone can feel no touch of spite.

Death the deliverer freeth all at last.

In his den the monster keep, Giver of eternal sleep.

Alas! How sad when reasoners reason wrong.

The dead clay makes no protest.

Both noun (eusebia) and verb (sebizo) derive from the Greek root seb-, which refers to the awe that radiates from gods to humans and is given back as worship. Everything related to this root has fear in it.

May the dead forgive me, I can do no other But as I am commanded; to do more is madness. - Ismene

I say that this crime is holy.

Money! Money's the curse of man, none greater. That's what wrecks cities, banishes men from homes, Tempts and deludes the most well-meaning soul, Pointing out the way to infamy and shame. - Creon

But nothing else escapes all-ruinous time. Earth's might decays, the might of men decays, Honor grows cold, dishonor flourishes, There is no constancy 'twixt friend and friend, Or city and city; be it soon or late, Sweet turns to bitter, hate once more to love.