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To many mortals silence great gain brings.

Aeschylus

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Aeschylus
Dramatist
Playwright
Tragedy Writer
Warrior
Elefsina
Æschylus
Aeschylos
Mortals
Gain
Brings
Gains
Silence
Many
Great

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Old age hath stronger sense of right than youth.
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In visions of the night, like dropping rain, Descend the many memories of pain.
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Bonds and the pangs of hunger are excellent prophet doctors for the wits.
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Willingly no one chooses the yoke of slavery.
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Ah, lives of men! When prosperous they glitter - Like a fair picture when misfortune comes - A wet sponge at one blow has blurred the painting.
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Alas, poor men, their destiny. When all goes well a shadow will overthrow it. If it be unkind one stroke of a wet sponge wipes all the picture out.
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But when once the earth has sucked up a dead man's blood, there is no way to raise him up.
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Nor does night conceal men's deeds of ill, but whatsoe'er thou dost, think that some God beholds it.
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For a single path leads to the house of Hades.
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And though all streams flow from a single course to cleanse the blood from polluted hand, they hasten on their course in vain.
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Truly upon mortals cometh swift of foot their evil and his offence upon him that trespasseth against Right.
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A man dies not for the many wounds that pierce his breast, unless it be that life's end keep pace with death, nor by sitting on his hearth at home doth he the more escape his appointed doom.
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Fear hurries on my tongue through want of courage.
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There is no avoidance in delay.
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What is there more kindly than the feeling between host and guest?
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A great ox stands on my tongue.
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Nought is there in wealth That serves as bulwark 'gainst the subtle stealth Of Destiny and Doom.
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When we sleep the soul is lit up... by many eyes, and with them, we can see everything that we cannot see in the daytime.
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I pray for no more youth To perish before its prime That Revenge and iron-heated War May fade with all that has gone before Into the night of time.
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They sent forth men to battle, But no such men return And home, to claim their welcome, Come ashes in an urn
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