Greek dramatist (525 B.C.-456 B.C.)
Thus upon mine restful couch I lie,
Bathed with the dews of night, unvisited
By dreams--ah me!--for in the place of sleep
Stands Fear as my familiar, and repels
The soft repose that would mine eyelids seal.
AESCHYLUS
Agamemnon
But who can describe the overweening pride of men? Or women mad with passion, reckless in their hearts, soulmates to every kind of ruin that befalls us? Wild passion, unrestrained, boundless, that overcomes the women, perverts the yoke of wedlock for beasts and men alike.
AESCHYLUS
Libation Bearers
Old men, what are they? Fast fading the leaf,
Three-footed they walk, yet frail as a child,
As a dream set afloat in the daylight.
AESCHYLUS
Agamemnon
To many mortals silence great gain brings.
AESCHYLUS
fragment
The air is Zeus, Zeus earth, and Zeus the heaven, Zeus all that is, and what transcends them all.
AESCHYLUS
fragment, Heliades
Night, o my mother, from whose womb I took my being.
AESCHYLUS
The Eumenides
Few men have the natural strength to honour a friend's success without envy.
AESCHYLUS
Agamemnon
Yet though a man gets many wounds in breast, he dieth not, unless the appointed time, the limit of his life's span, coincide; nor does the man who by the hearth at home sits still, escape the doom that Fate decrees.
AESCHYLUS
fragment
The seed of mortals broods o'er passing things, and hath nought surer than the smoke-cloud's shadow.
AESCHYLUS
fragment
Trouble, with its memories of pain, drips in our hearts as we try to sleep, so men against their will learn to practice moderation.
AESCHYLUS
Agamemnon
Time brings all things to pass.
AESCHYLUS
The Libation Bearers
Lustre of man walking proud beneath the sky diminishes to nothing and goes unregarded.
AESCHYLUS
The Eumenides
For wherein is life sweet to him who suffers grief?
AESCHYLUS
fragment, Hoplon Krisis
When deep slumber falls, remembered sins
Chafe the sore heart with fresh pain, and no
Welcome wisdom meets within.
AESCHYLUS
Agamemnon
But when the dust has drunk the blood of men, no resurrection comes for one who's dead.
AESCHYLUS
The Eumenides
In the sinews of the dead there is no blood.
AESCHYLUS
fragment, Sisyphos
The so-called mother of the child isn't the child's begetter, but only a sort of nursing soil for the new-sown seed. The man, the one on top, is the true parent, while she, a stranger, foster's a stranger's sprout.
AESCHYLUS
Eumenides
Rumors have wings.
AESCHYLUS
Agamemnon
We spoil ourselves with scruples long as things go well.
AESCHYLUS
The Oresteia
Would that I might get a mantle like unto the heavens!
AESCHYLUS
Salaminiai