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What anger worse or slower to abate then lovers love when it turns to hate.
Euripides
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Euripides
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Tragedy Writer
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Ancient Athens
Lovers
Anger
Worse
Turns
Hate
Love
Abate
Slower
More quotes by Euripides
A wretched child Is he who does not return his parents' care.
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That mortal is a fool who, prospering, thinks his life has any strong foundation since our fortune's course of action is the reeling way a madman takes, and no one person is ever happy all the time.
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The daughters of Sparta are never at home! They mingle with the young men in wrestling matches.
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We pay a high price for intelligence. Wisdom hurts.
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Time will explain it all. Waste no tears over the griefs of yesterday. One loyal friend is worth ten thousand relatives. Love is all we have, the only way that each can help the other. Whoso neglects learning in his youth, loses the past and is dead for the future.
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The way of God is complex, he is hard for us to predict. He moves the pieces and they come somehow into a kind of order.
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Man's best possession is a sympathetic wife.
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Among mortals second thoughts are wisest.
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Vengeance comes not slowly either upon you or any other wicked man, but steals silently and imperceptibly, placing its foot on the bad.
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Why do we make so much of knowledge, struggle so hard to get some little skill not worth the effort?
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Wrath brings mortal men their gravest hurt.
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The greatest pleasure of life is love.
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Oh, what a power is motherhood, possessing a potent spell. Love, Light, Blessings
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Good and bad may not be dissevered There is, as there should be, a commingling.
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Oh, trebly blest the placid lot of those whose hearth foundations are in pure love laid, where husband's breast with tempered ardor glows, and wife, oft mother, is in heart a maid!
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Old men's prayers for death are lying prayers, in which they abuse old age and long extent of life. But when death draws near, not one is willing to die, and age no longer is a burden to them.
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Alas, how right the ancient saying is: We, who are old, are nothing else but noise And shape. Like mimicries of dreams we go, And have no wits, although we think us wise.
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What can we take on trust in this uncertain life? Happiness, greatness, pride - nothing is secure, nothing keeps.
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Mobs in their emotions are much like children, subject to the same tantrums and fits of fury.
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O lady, nobility is thine, and thy form is the reflection of thy nature!
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