Euripides Medea Quotes

Stronger than lover's love is lover's hate. Incurable, in each, the wounds they make.

The fiercest anger of all, the most incurable, Is that which rages in the place of dearest love.

Hate is a bottomless cup; I will pour and pour

Of all creatures that can feel and think, we women are the worst treated things alive

Let no one think of me that I am humble or weak or passive; let them understand I am of a different kind: dangerous to my enemies, loyal to my friends. To such a life glory belongs.

My love for you was greater than my wisdom.

tell me how does it feel with my teeth in your heart!

I'd three times sooner go to war than suffer childbirth once.

Arm yourself, my heart: the thing that you must do is fearful, yet inevitable.

For in other ways a woman is full of fear, defenseless, dreads the sight of cold steel; but, when once she is wronged in the matter of love, no other soul can hold so many thoughts of blood.

I know indeed what evil I intend to do, but stronger than all my afterthoughts is my fury, fury that brings upon mortals the greatest evils.

It's human; we all put self interest first.

Mortal fate is hard. You'd best get used to it.

death is the only water to wash away this dirt

I understand too well the dreadful act I'm going to commit, but my judgement can't check my anger, and that incites the greatest evils human beings do.

Do not grieve so much for a husband lost that it wastes away your life.

She came into the world fierce and stubborn and then she learned to hate.

I will storm the Gods and shake the Universe

She sings a dark destructive song.

Who then will dare to say I'm weak or timid? No, they'll say I'm loyal as a friend, ruthless as a foe, so much like a hero destined for glory.

Since I am wise, some people envy me, some think I'm idle, some the opposite, and some feel threatened. Yet I'm not all that wise.

Who can stop grief's avalanche once it starts to roll.

Better a humble heart, a lowly life. Untouched by greatness let me live - and live. Not too little, not too much: there safety lies.

Old loves are dropped when new ones come

Gods often contradict our fondest expectations. What we anticipate does not come to pass. What we don't expect some god finds a way to make it happen. So with this story

In childbirth grief begins.

What other creatures are bred so exquisitely and purposefully for mistreatment as women are?

We must not think too much: people go mad if they think too much.

O what will she do, a soul bitten into with wrong?

No one who goes against her can win.

Not too little, not too much: there safety lies.

Let no one think me a weak one, feeble-spirited, A stay-at-home, but rather just the opposite, One who can hurt my enemies and help my friends; For the lives of such persons are most remembered.

Surely, of all creatures that have life and will, we women are the most wretched. When, for an extravagant sum, we have bought a husband, we must then accept him as possessor of our body.

Not yet do you feel it. Wait for the future.

Pay special attention to their agony so I might take some pleasure.

Amongst mortals no man is happy; wealth may pour in and make one luckier than another, but none can happy be.

You have the skill. What is more, you were born a woman, And women, though most helpless in doing good deeds, Are of every evil the cleverest of contrivers.

And so my thoughts have lead me to believe that childless men and women lead lives more fortunate than those with sons and daughters.

Why long for death's marriage bed which human beings all shun? Death comes soon enough and brings an end to everything.

All of us judge by sight and not by knowledge.

We'll see how the sky catches fire. We'll see how she feeds the flames with her implacable hate.

A woman like me! What am I like that's different from you or any man

MEDEA: The gods know who was the author of this sorrow. JASON: Yes, the gods know indeed, they know your loathsome heart. MEDEA: Hate me. But I tire of your barking bitterness.

What heavenly power lends an ear To a breaker of oaths, a deceiver?

It would have been better far for men To have got their children in some other way, and women Not to have existed. Then life would have been good. CHORUS

power and alliance for them, slavery and conquest over us.

The mind of a queen Is a thing to fear. A queen is used To giving commands, not obeying them; And her rage once roused is hard to appease.

O Zeus! Why have you given us clear signs to tell True gold from counterfeit; but when we need to know Bad men from good, the flesh bears no revealing mark?

But my pain’s a fair price, to take away your smile.

or else I would have sung a song in response to what the male sex sings. For our lengthy past has much to say about men's lives as well as ours

The pain is good, as long as you're not laughing.

Yes, I can endure guilt, however horrible; The laughter of my enemies I will not endure. Now

And I'm a woman made of sorrow.

Terrible things breed in broken hearts. And I see in my mistress' eyes a fury that wont be calmed… It can’t be long before her sorrow turns, as sorrow always does, into rage.

And I do not fear to say that those who are held Wise among men and who search the reasons of things Are those who bring the most sorrow on themselves.

So, friends, what method should we use? Hard to choose. I could torch them in their love nest or butcher them in their fragrant bed.

And, they tell us, we at home Live free from danger, they go out to battle: fools! I’d rather stand three times in the front line than bear One child.

Anger, The spring of all life's horror. - Medea

Ruthless is the temper of royalty; How much better to live among the equals.Let me decline in a safe old age. The very name of the "middle way".

Try refusing the arrangement, or later petition for divorce -- the first is impossible while the second is like admitting you're a whore.

O Zeus, why is it you have given men clear ways of testing whether gold is counterfeit but, when it comes to men, the body carries no stamp of nature for distinguishing bad from good.

Hast thou ice that thou shalt bind it To thy breast, and make thee dead To thy children, to thine own spirit's pain? When the hand knows what it dares, When thine eyes look into theirs, Shalt thou keep by tears unblinded Thy dividing of the slain? These be deeds Not for thee: These be things that cannot be!

What's strange in that? Have you only just discovered That everyone loves himself more than his neighbor?

everybody loves himself more than his neighbor.

It is the thoughts of men that are deceitful, Their pledges that are loose.

Go home to your wife. Go bury her.

O Zeus! why hast thou granted unto man clear signs to know the sham in gold, while on man's brow no brand is stamped whereby to gauge the villain's heart?

MEDEA: The children are dead. I say this to make you suffer.

To me, a wicked man who is also eloquent seems the most guilty of them all. He´ll cut your throat as bold as brass, because he knows he can dress up murder in handsome words.

There is no justice in the world's censorious eyes. They will not wait to learn a man's true character; Though no wrong has been done them, one look - and they hate. - Medea

A woman of hot temper - and a man the same - Is a less dangerous enemy than one quiet and clever.

What's more, we are born women. It mat be we're unqualified for deeds of virtue: yet as the architects of every kind of mischief, we are supremely skilled.

Not for the first time I find our lives are a shadow, and I am not afraid to say that people who think they have everything figured out and are masters of logic - they are responsible for the greatest folly. No human being is happy. Strike it rich and you are luckier than your neighbor - but happy, never.

Nurse: "Yet he is found to be treacherous towards his friends". Tutor: "And what man is not? dost thou only now know this, that every one lives himself dearer than his neighbour, some indeed with justice, but others even for the sake of gain.

What man’s not guilty? It’s taken you a long time to learn That everybody loves himself more than his neighbour.

If women didn't exist, human life would be rid of all its miseries.

Terrible things breed in broken hearts. And I see in my mistress' eyes a fury that wont be calmed.

Gone is the trust to be placed in oaths; I cannot understand if the gods you swore by then no longer rule, or men live by new standards of what is right.

The final end of death comes fast. No need to pray for that.

Oh, say, how call ye this, To face, and smile, the comrade whom his kiss Betrayed? Scorn? Insult? Courage? None of these: 'Tis but of all man's inward sicknesses The vilest, that he knoweth not of shame Nor pity! Yet I praise him that he came . . . To me it shall bring comfort, once to clear My heart on thee, and thou shalt wince to hear.

We are not subject to our own wills, our own desires. But to the fates and the fortunes that the gods hand to us. The future is turned before our eyes into wrenching heartache, into ashes and to splinters. From today I know that truly hope is dead. I ask you again, you who watch, how can there ever be any ending than this? First silence. Then darkness.

I am a curse upon your house as well.

Old ties give place to new ones.

Besides, you are a born woman: feeble when it comes to the sublime, marvelously inventive over crime.

MEDEA: Tell me, How does it feel with my teeth in your heart?

Greek tragedy operates through the ear. It is through the ear primarily that it enters the eyes, the senses, the mind, the heart. It must be spoken aloud. It is designed for that. And until that is done these plays have not been read, have not been used, have not been born.

Indeed it is not usual for the young to grieve.

Any pleasure I took in life I now renounce; it’s death I want.

In your grief, too, I weep, mother of little children, You who will murder your own, In vengeance for the loss of married love

For of mortals there is no one who is happy. If wealth flows in upon one, one may be perhaps Luckier than one’s neighbor, but still not happy.

If your enemy is a man of honour (...), yield to him; you may touch his heart, Perhaps win generous terms. If he´s a rat - beware!

Agamemnon, if you help this man, you help an impious, perjured, and polluted traitor, and by upholding evil soil you own fair name.

Dire and beyond all healing is the hate When hearts that loved are turned to enmity.

Give me your hand; I'll hold you....Then wipe off on me all your uncleanness, all; I do not shrink from it.

Streams of the sacred rivers flow uphill; Tradition, order, all things are reversed: Deceit is men's device now, Men's oaths are gods' dishonour. Legend will now reverse our reputation; A time comes when the female sex is honoured; That old discordant slander Shall no more hold us subject.

To have learnt to live on the common level Is better. No grand life for me, Just peace and quiet as I grow old. The middle way, neither great nor mean, Is best by far, in name and practice. To be rich and powerful brings no blessing; Only more utterly Is the prosperous house destroyed, when gods are angry.

See, how strong love overwhelms us. See, how it wounds and destroys and yet when Aphrodite wants to soothe, nothing cures as love cures. So, my love, shoot me gently, barely break my skin with your terrible arrows.

But can you have the heart to kill your flesh and blood? MEDEA Yes, for this is the best way to wound my husband. CHORUS And you, too. Of women you will be most unhappy. MEDEA So it must be. No compromise is possible. (

No cowardice, and no remembering your children, how they were your dears, or how you gave them birth. Instead for this one fleeting day forget that they are yours, and afterward take time to grieve. Although it's you who's killing them they were your lovely babes. And I'm a woman made of sorrow.

What incompetent fools they were, Those composers of old: making music for life and joy, for grand celebrations and groaning boards, but, oh, nothing for sorrow and pain: No music or song on hand-plucked lyre For the world's travail And the death and destruction of many a home. Oh, what solace is missed By having no music for this! What a waste of it, then, by singing in vain, When fullness at feasts is its own joy and gain.