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I warn the marauder dragging plunder, chaotic, rich beyond all rights: he'll strike his sails, harried at long last, stunned when the squalls of torment break his spars to bits.

Aeschylus

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Aeschylus
Dramatist
Playwright
Tragedy Writer
Warrior
Elefsina
Æschylus
Aeschylos
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Torment
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Sail
Harried
Last
Strike
Dragging
Long
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Beyond
Plunder
Bits
Warn
Break
Stunned
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Chaotic

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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.
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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.
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To make wail and lament for one's ill fortune, when one will win a tear from the audience, is well worthwhile.
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What exists outside is a man's concern let no woman give advice and do no mischief within doors.
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By Time and Age full many things are taught.
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This is a sickness rooted and inherent in the nature of a tyranny: that he that holds it does not trust his friends.
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Against necessity, against its strength, no one can fight and win.
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Fear hurries on my tongue through want of courage.
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Know yourself and fit yourself to new fashions. For there is a new ruler among the gods.
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If you are not envied, you are not enviable.
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Since long I've held silence a remedy for harm.
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If a man should wanton walk with crime ... he shall find in death no great deliverance.
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Let there be wealth without tears enough for the wise man who will ask no further.
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What good is it to live a life that brings pains?
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Black smoke, the flickering sister of fire.
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Every ruler is harsh whose laws is new.
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Sweet is a grief well ended.
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Human prosperity never rests but always craves more, till blown up with pride it totters and falls. From the opulent mansions pointed at by all passers-by none warns it away, none cries, 'Let no more riches enter!'.
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For the impious act begets more after it, like to the parent stock.
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