Auli Quotes

He loves power. A terrible love.

No mortal ever knows happiness and good fortune all the way to the end. Each one is born with his bitterness waiting for him.

AGAMEMNON: Oh immovable law of heaven! Oh my anguish, my relentless fate! CLYTEMNESTRA: Yours? Mine. Hers. No relenting for any of us.

Death will be my wedding, children and glory.

We'll buy back our own harm with what is most dear to us.

But words can conquer words.

Truly we are creatures of labor and suffering, and nothing for long. Labor and suffering, and the plain sight of our destiny is the cruelest thing of all.

We would have to think the gods had no minds, to pray for murderers.

AGAMEMNON: I will not slay my children, nor shall thy interests be prospered by justice in thy vengeance for a worthless wife, while I am left wasting, night and day, in sorrow for what I did to one of my own flesh and blood, contrary to all law and justice.

Oh where is the noble face of modesty, or the strength of virtue, now that blasphemy is in power and men have put justice behind them, and there is no law but lawlessness, and none join in fear of the gods?

If only the herdsman had not brought him up with the flocks, not reared him, Paris, Alexander, to watch his flock by the clear springs where the nymphs rise, and the rich pastures starred with roses and hyacinths for the goddesses to gather.

...while epic fantasy is based on the fairy tale of the just war, that’s not one you’ll find in Grimm or Disney, and most will never recognize the shape of it. I think the fantasy genre pitches its tent in the medieval campground for the very reason that we even bother to write stories about things that never happened in the first place: because it says something subtle and true about our own world, something it is difficult to say straight out, with a straight face. Something you need tools to say, you need cheat codes for the human brain--a candy princess or a sugar-coated unicorn to wash down the sour taste of how bad things can really get. See, I think our culture has a slash running through the middle of it, too. Past/Future, Conservative/Liberal, Online/Offline. Virgin/Whore. And yes: Classical/Medieval. I think we’re torn between the Classical Narrative of Self and the Medieval Narrative of Self, between the choice of Achilles and Keep Calm and Carry On. The Classical internal monologue goes like this: do anything, anything, only don’t be forgotten. Yes, this one sacrificed his daughter on a slab at Aulis, that one married his mother and tore out his eyes, and oh that guy ate his kids in a pie. But you remember their names, don’t you? So it’s all good in the end. Give a Greek soul a choice between a short life full of glory and a name echoing down the halls of time and a long, gentle life full of children and a quiet sort of virtue, and he’ll always go down in flames. That’s what the Iliad is all about, and the Odyssey too. When you get to Hades, you gotta have a story to tell, because the rest of eternity is just forgetting and hoping some mortal shows up on a quest and lets you drink blood from a bowl so you can remember who you were for one hour. And every bit of cultural narrative in America says that we are all Odysseus, we are all Agamemnon, all Atreus, all Achilles. That we as a nation made that choice and chose glory and personal valor, and woe betide any inconvenient “other people” who get in our way. We tell the tales around the campfire of men who came from nothing to run dotcom empires, of a million dollars made overnight, of an actress marrying a prince from Monaco, of athletes and stars and artists and cowboys and gangsters and bootleggers and talk show hosts who hitched up their bootstraps and bent the world to their will. Whose names you all know. And we say: that can be each and every one of us and if it isn’t, it’s your fault. You didn’t have the excellence for it. You didn’t work hard enough. The story wasn’t about you, and the only good stories are the kind that have big, unignorable, undeniable heroes.

Piangi con me, supplica il padre di non uccidere tua sorella: anche i bambini si rendono conto delle sciagure.

Behold, I am silent: for what need is there that, falsely speaking, I add shamelessness to misfortune?

And ‘tis a rare prize for a man to obtain such a wife, but there is no lack of getting a bad spouse.

I pledge you my troth, Aulis Gerrard. I grant you my axe, and my favour, and my fealty. I shall honour you, and care for you, and keep you safe. For as long as I bear breath.

O revered Goddess, who in the recesses of Aulis didst save me from the dire hand of a slaying father, now also save me and these, or the voice of Loxias will through thee be no longer truthful among mortals. But do thou with good will quit the barbarian land for Athens, for it becomes thee not to dwell here, when you can possess a blest city.

Kısa ve öz konuşarak kendini güzel tanıttın, ama ben kadınlarla konuşmaya utanırım.

A terrible thing it is to be a mother, and it bears a great endearment, and one common to all, so as to toil on behalf of their children.

Sentir respeto es sabiduría.

Humility, 1150 a sense of reverence before the sons of heaven— of all the prizes that a mortal man might win, these, I say, are wisest; these are best.

Oh, what a power is motherhood, possessing a potent spell. All people alike fight fiercely for their children.

Many have paid the price for base profits.

O making of children, hapless work, sorrow of mankind, the man who reasons well will live his whole life childless and not risk having children whom some day he must bury.

But do thou remain, there is no use for punctilio, if we can [but save your life.]

I was foolish and young, before that, viewing the matter closely, I saw what it is to beget children.

The powerful, in sooth, and the wealthy, are Gods to those of mortals who are unblest.

This thy wit hath no wit.

We gain the most hateful things at the hand of those dearest.

Verily we must believe the Gods are senseless, if we feel well disposed to murderers.

Tis dreadful for words and strife to happen between brothers, when they fall into dispute.

For the discreet among mortals are such as pass through life correctly with wisdom.

CLYTEMNESTRA: All right then, suppose you do sacrifice your child, what will you pray for when you say your prayers? [....] And what do you think my prayers will be? Blessings on you? Come, come! Are the gods so cretinous they expect kind thoughts for strangers? [...] If Troy must have a victim, let Menelaus kill Hermoine, his child by Helen. After all, the quarrel is his, and all of it for Helen.

THE ARGUMENT. When the Greeks were detained at Aulis by stress of weather, Calchas declared that they would never reach Troy unless the daughter of Agamemnon, Iphigenia, was sacrificed to Diana. Agamemnon sent for his daughter with this view, but repenting, he dispatched a messenger to prevent Clytæmnestra sending her. The messenger being intercepted by Menelaus, an altercation between the brother chieftains arose, during which Iphigenia, who had been tempted with the expectation of being wedded to Achilles, arrived with her mother. The latter, meeting with Achilles, discovered the deception, and Achilles swore to protect her. But Iphigenia, having determined to die nobly on behalf of the Greeks, was snatched away by the Goddess, and a stag substituted in her place. The Greeks were then enabled to set sail.

But in a horse-chariot they brought [38] me to the sands of Aulis, a bride, alas! unhappy bride to the son of Nereus' daughter, alas! And now a stranger I dwell in an unpleasant home on the inhospitable sea, unwedded, childless, without city, without a friend, not chanting Juno in Argos, nor in the sweetly humming loom adorning with the shuttle the image of Athenian Pallas [39] and of the Titans, but imbruing altars with the shed blood of strangers, a pest unsuited to the harp, [of strangers] sighing forth [40] a piteous cry, and shedding a piteous tear. And now indeed forgetfulness of these matters [comes upon] me, but now I mourn my brother dead in Argos, whom I left yet an infant at the breast, yet young, yet a germ in his mother's arms and on her bosom, Orestes [the future] holder of the sceptre in Argos.

CLYTEMNESTRA: One single question, husband, answer it like a man. AGAMEMNON: Don't give me orders.....Of course I'll answer. C: This child, your child and mine -- are you going to kill her? A: Good God! What a question! What a foul suspicion! C: Cut the surprise. Just answer me -- yes or no? ..... A: I'm finished! They know everything. My secret's out! C: Yes, I know everything -- your whole disgusting plan. Even your dumbness gives you away. You needn't tire yourself with explanations: moans and groans will do. ..... Now you listen to ME. I'll speak plain and straight. No more half-hints, no more innuendos. ..... I bore this son to you after three girls, and now one of them you cruelly mean to rob me of. If asked why, why do you want to kill her, what, pray, will your answer be? Or must I say it for you? To get Helen back for Menelaus. Dear gods, what a price ot pay! One's own child for a prostitute! Buying back what we hate with what we love!

I bend before you like a branch bending towards the earth, pressing my body against your knees. This is the body that your wife gave birth to. Don’t send me to an early death. It is sweet to see the sun’s light. Do not force me down into the darkness of the Underworld. I was the first child to call you father, the first you called your child. I was the first to sit upon your knee while you fondly kissed me. You used to say to me, “Will I see you one day, happy in your husband’s house, bringing honor to your family?” And I would say to you, as I pulled upon your beard, the same beard I now caress, “And what about you, Father? Will I welcome you into my house, when you are an old man, and take care of you in thanks for all the years that you took care of me?” I remember every word we said, but you have forgotten them, and now you are planning to end my life.

The armor he wore was not the dueling armor he had expected. The breastplate was chased with a design of red and gold fusils or lozenges, quartered with scallops and roses, and about the whole figure writhed the three-headed Serpent of Aulis, with three sparrows above, wings spread as if in frantic flight, tiny gold beaks open. The baldric was inscribed with letters of gold. N’Oubliez. Never forget.

It is while they were waiting to set sail from Aulis for the second time that a tragic series of events, immortalized by the later Greek playwrights, took place. Because the goddess Artemis, for reasons best known to herself, had sent winds that prevented the fleet from sailing, the increasingly impatient Agamemnon took measures that we would regard as rather extreme. He planned to sacrifice his own daughter Iphigenia in order to placate the goddess. The Cypria, however, puts a pleasant spin on these events, stating that Artemis snatched Iphigenia away at the last minute, making her immortal, and left a stag on the altar in her place, much as Isaac was replaced by a ram during the intended sacrifice by Abraham, as related in Genesis 22 of the Hebrew Bible. Euripides

Keep singing!” Arkurion ordered, suddenly agog. He glanced down at his twitching paws as if they had just betrayed him. “Ooh … I feel strange. Dragons of the Singula Ocean! Prepare to travel afar!” Auli gasped, “What?” “Let the music play you,” the Dragon snorted, not without a shrewd grin of his own. “But I don’t have the faintest idea what I’m doing.” “Which is exactly as it ought to be, o Mistress of Anfractuous Logic. Now, excuse me. I feel – oh, by my fires, I’m dancing! What’s wrong with me? I’m actually – my wings – stop that! Stop laughing this instant!

McAuly,

Now, girl, do you remember yesterday’s lesson? How shall we trim the sails for a steady wind coming in off the starboard quarter, abaft?” Abaft? Auli-Ambar turned the delightfully anachronistic word over in her mind. These Dragonship Steersmen used the very best words, possessing a unique language of their own to describe navigation, flying, the tying of knots and the multitudinous parts and workings of their vessels. They sailed or made headway above the depthless Cloudlands, tacked against the wind, unpicked knots with marlinspikes, and their enemies were called pirates or corsairs. Who even knew what a marlin was?

Female characters were often central figures in ancient versions of these stories. The playwright Euripides wrote eight tragedies about the Trojan War which survive to us today. One of them, Orestes, has a male title character. The other seven have women as their titles: Andromache, Electra, Hecabe, Helen, Iphigenia in Aulis, Iphigenia Among the Taureans and The Trojan Women.