Lysistrata Quotes

[Y]ou [man] are fool enough, it seems, to dare to war with [woman=] me, when for your faithful ally you might win me easily.

There is no beast, no rush of fire, like woman so untamed. She calmly goes her way where even panthers would be shamed.

Lysistrata: To seize the treasury; no more money, no more war.

Magistrate: May I die a thousand deaths ere I obey one who wears a veil! Lysistrata: If that's all that troubles you, here take my veil, wrap it round your head, and hold your tounge. Then take this basket; put on a girdle, card wool, munch beans. The War shall be women's business.

Calonice: My dear Lysistrata, just what is this matter you've summoned us women to consider.What's up? Something big? Lysistrata: Very big. Calonice: (interested) Is it stout too? Lysistrata: (smiling) Yes, indeed -- both big and stout. Calonice: What? And the women still haven't come? Lysistrata: It's not what you suppose; they'd come soon enough for that.

Chorus of old men: How true the saying: 'Tis impossible to live with the baggages, impossible to live without 'em.

Magistrate: What do you propose to do then, pray? Lysistrata: You ask me that! Why, we propose to administer the treasury ourselves Magistrate: You do? Lysistrata: What is there in that a surprise to you? Do we not administer the budget of household expenses? Magistrate: But that is not the same thing. Lysistrata: How so – not the same thing? Magistrate: It is the treasury supplies the expenses of the War. Lysistrata: That's our first principle – no War!

MAGISTRATE Don't men grow old? LYSISTRATA Not like women. When a man comes home Though he's grey as grief he can always get a girl. There's no second spring for a woman. None. She can't recall it, nobody wants her, however She squanders her time on the promise of oracles, It's no use...

Lysistrata: "Calonice, it's more than I can bear, I am hot all over with blushes for our sex. Men say we're slippery rogues--" Calonice: "And aren't they right?

What matters that I was born a woman, if I can cure your misfortunes? I pay my share of tolls and taxes, by giving men to the State. But you, you miserable greybeards, you contribute nothing to the public charges; on the contrary, you have wasted the treasure of our forefathers, as it was called, the treasure amassed in the days of the Persian Wars. You pay nothing at all in return; and into the bargain you endanger our lives and liberties by your mistakes. Have you one word to say for yourselves?... Ah! don't irritate me, you there, or I'll lay my slipper across your jaws; and it's pretty heavy.

Chorus of women: […] Oh! my good, gallant Lysistrata, and all my friends, be ever like a bundle of nettles; never let you anger slacken; the wind of fortune blown our way.

What can you answer? Now be careful, don’t arouse my spite, Or with my slipper I’ll take you napping, faces slapping Left and right.

LYSISTRATA May gentle Love and the sweet Cyprian Queen shower seductive charms on our bosoms and all our person. If only we may stir so amorous a feeling among the men that they stand firm as sticks, we shall indeed deserve the name of peace-makers among the Greeks.

I love him, oh! I love him; but he won't let himself be loved.

Let's smell like women, armed to teeth with rage!

Lysistrata: Oh, Calonicé, my heart is on fire; I blush for our sex. Men will have it we are tricky and sly... Calonicé: And they are quite right, upon my word! Lysistrata: Yet, look you, when the women are summoned to meet for a matter of the last importance, they lie abed instead of coming. Calonicé: Oh, they will come, my dear; but 'tis not easy you know, for a woman to leave the house. One is busy pottering about her husband; another is getting the servant up; a third is putting her child asleep or washing the brat or feeding it.

Lewd to the least drop in the tiniest vein, Our sex is fitly food for Tragic Poets, Our whole life's but a pile of kisses and babies. But, hardy Spartan, if you join with me All may be righted yet. O help me, help me.

That’s who he was at heart. A protector. I don’t think he would’ve ever won the Games, because he’d have died trying to protect Lucy Gray.” “Oh, like a dog or something.” Lepidus nodded. “A really good one.” “No, not like a dog. Like a human being.” said Lysistrata

He has several highly valuable editions that I envy: Doré’s Inferno, Dalí’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Picasso’s Lysistrata

LYSISTRATA By the Goddesses, you'll find that here await you Four companies of most pugnacious women Armed cap-a-pie from the topmost louring curl To the lowest angry dimple. MAGISTRATE

But how should women perform so wise and glorious an achievement, we women who dwell in the retirement of the household, clad in diaphanous garments of yellow silk and long flowing gowns, decked out with flowers and shod with dainty little slippers?

MEN Ah cursed drab, what have you brought this water for? WOMEN What is your fire for then, you smelly corpse? Yourself to burn?

Chorus of old men: If we give them the least hold over us, 'tis all up! their audacity will know no bounds! We shall see them building ships, and fighting sea-fights like Artemisia; nay if they want to mount and ride as cavalry, we had best cashier the knights, for indeed women excel in riding, and have a fine, firm seat for the gallop. Just think of all those squadrons of Amazons Micon has painted for us engaged in hand-to-hand combat with men.

LYSISTRATA You know how to work. Play with him, lead him on, Seduce him to the cozening-point—kiss him, kiss him, Then slip your mouth aside just as he's sure of it, Ungirdle every caress his mouth feels at Save that the oath upon the bowl has locked. MYRRHINE

the swallows, fleeing before the hoopoes, shall have all flocked together in one place, and shall refrain them from all amorous commerce, then will be the end of all the ills of life; yea, and Zeus, which doth thunder in the skies, shall set above what was erst below....

What I’d like people to know about Jessup is that he was a good person. He threw his body over mine to protect me when the bombs started going off in the arena. It wasn’t even conscious. He did it reflexively. That’s who he was at heart. A protector. I don’t think he would’ve ever won the Games, because he’d have died trying to protect Lucy Gray.” “Oh, like a dog or something.” Lepidus nodded. “A really good one.” “No, not like a dog. Like a human being,” said Lysistrata.

What’s the use of crowbars? It’s not crowbars that we need, it’s intelligence and common sense

Sənət çörək arxasınca qaçarsa, alçalar

Shakespeare wrote sculduddery because he liked it, and for no other reason; his sensuality is the measure of his vitality.

LYSISTRATA All right then— we have to give up all male penises. [The women react with general consternation]

Livia shot back. “And who wouldn’t rather be the victor than the defeated?” “I don’t know that I have much interest in being either,” said Lysistrata.

MYRRHINE Why, you've no blanket. CINESIAS It's not the silly blanket's warmth but yours I want. MYRRHINE Never mind. You'll soon have both. I'll come straight back. CINESIAS The woman will choke me with her coverlets. MYRRHINE Get up a moment. CINESIAS I'm up high enough. MYRRHINE

And what if they do? No threat shall creak our hinges wide, no torch Shall light a fear in us; we will come out To Peace alone.

What heart, what soul, what bollocks could long endure this plight, having no one to shag in the middle of the night?

There is no beast more stubborn than a woman. And neither fire nor leopard is more ruthless.

See why I think I owe you good advice? And please don’t look on me with prejudice: My gender has no bearing on the question Whether I’m offering you a good suggestion.

But he who would provoke me should remember That those who rifle wasps’ nests will be stung!

...shit yourself

Shakespeare wrote sculduddery because he liked it, and for no other reason; his sensuality is the measure of his vitality.

Nothing she says or does would surprise me.” Gideon faced the helm once more, putting his back to Barnaby. He wasn’t about to go anywhere near Sara again, not the way he was feeling now. Let Barnaby deal with her today. “Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean it’s nothing to worry about. You’ve got more schooling than I have, but isn’t Lysistrata the play where the women refuse to have relations with their husbands until the men agree to stop going to war?” With a groan, Gideon clenched the wheel. Lysistrata was among the many words of literature his father had forced down his throat once he was old enough to read. “Yes. But don’t try to tell me she’s teaching them that. It’s Greek, for god’s sake. They wouldn’t understand a word, even if she knew it well enough to recite it.” “She knows it well enough to give them a free translation, I assure you. When I left her she was telling them the story with great enthusiasm.” Barnaby reached for the helm when Gideon swung away from it with an oath. “I should never have taken her aboard,” he grumbled as he strode for the ladder. “I should have sent her back to England gagged and bound!

This is the first of the series of three Comedies—'The Acharnians,' 'Peace' and 'Lysistrata'—produced at intervals of years, the sixth, tenth and twenty-first of the Peloponnesian War, and impressing on the Athenian people the miseries and disasters due to it and to the scoundrels who by their selfish and reckless policy had provoked it, the consequent ruin of industry and, above all, agriculture, and the urgency of asking Peace.

From harsh and shrill and clamant, the voices grew blurred and inarticulate. Bad sentences were helped out by worse gestures, and at one table, Scabius could only express himself with his napkin, after the manner of Sir Jolly Jumble in the first part of the Soldier’s Fortune of Otway. Basalissa and Lysistrata tried to pronounce each other’s names, and became very affectionate in the attempt; and Tala, the tragedian, robed in roomy purple and wearing plume and buskin, rose to his feet and with swaying gestures began to recite one of his favourite parts. He got no further than the first line, but repeated it again and again, with fresh accents and intonations each time, and was only silenced by the approach of the asparagus that was being served by satyrs dressed in white muslin. Clitor and Sodon had a violet struggle over the beautiful Pella, and nearly upset a chandelier. Sophie became very intimate with an empty champagne bottle, swore it had made her enceinte, and ended by having a mock accouchement on the top of the table; and Belamour pretended to be a dog, and pranced from couch to couch on all fours, biting and barking and licking. Mellefont crept about dropping love philtres into glasses. Juventus and Ruella stripped and put on each other’s things, Spelto offered a prize for who ever should come first, and Spelto won it! Tannhäuser, just a little grisé, lay down on the cushions and let Julia do whatever she liked.

All we have to do is idly sit indoors With smooth roses powdered on our cheeks, Our bodies burning naked through the fold Of shining Amorgos' silk and meet the men With our dear Venus-plats plucked trim and neat. Their stirring love will rise up furiously, They'll beg our arms to open. That's our time! We'll disregard their knocking beat them off And they will soon be rabid for a Peace I'm sure of it.

What villainies they contrive! Come, let vengeance fall, You that below the waist are still alive, Off with your tunics at my call— Naked, all. For a man must strip to battle like a man. No quaking, brave steps taking, careless what’s ahead, white shoed, in the nude, onward bold, All ye who garrisoned Leipsidrion of old. . . . Let each one wag As youthfully as he can, And if he has the cause at heart Rise at least a span.

WOMEN Well, I'll relate a rival fable just to show to you A different point of view: There was a rough-hewn fellow, Timon, with a face That glowered as through a thorn-bush in a wild, bleak place. He too decided on flight, This very Furies' son, All the world's ways to shun And hide from everyone, Spitting out curses on all knavish men to left and right. But though he reared this hate for men, He loved the women even then, And never thought them enemies. WOMAN O your jaw I'd like to break. MAN

Lysistrata: [...] I will not allow either lover or husband - Myrrhine: I will not allow either lover or husband - Lysistrata: - to approach me in a state of erection. Go on! Myrrhine: - to approach me in - a state of - erection [...] Lysistrata: And I will live at home in unsullied chastity - Myrrhine: And I will live at home in unsullied chastity - Lysistrata: - wearing my saffron gown and my sexiest make-up Myrrhine: - wearing my saffron gown and my sexiest make-up Lysistrata: - to inflame my husband's ardour. Myrrhine: - to inflame my husband's ardour. Lysistrata: But I will never willingly yield myself to him. Myrrhine: But I will never willingly yield myself to him. Lysistrata: And should he rape me by force against my will - Myrrhine: And should he rape me by force against my will - Lysistrata: - I will submit passively and will not thrust back. Myrrhine: - I will submit passively and will not thrust back. Lysistrata: I will not raise my slippers towards the ceiling. Myrrhine: I will not raise my slippers towards the ceiling. Lysistrata: I will not adopt the lioness-on-a-cheesegrater position. Myrrhine: I will not adopt the lioness-on-a-cheesegrater position. Lysistrata: If I abide by this oath, may I drink from this [wine] cup. Myrrhine: If I abide by this oath, may I drink from this [wine] cup. Lysistrata: But if I break it, may the cup be filled with water. Myrrhine: But if I break it, may the cup be filled with water.

He strode forward, heedless of the murmuring that began among the women when they saw him. Then Sara turned, and her gaze met his. Instantly a guilty blush spread over her cheeks that told him all he needed to know about her intent. “Good afternoon, ladies,” he said in steely tones. “Class is over for today. Why don’t you all go up on deck and get a little fresh air?” When the women looked at Sara, she folded her hands primly in front of her and stared at him. “You have no right to dismiss my class, Captain Horn. Besides, we aren’t finished yet. I was telling them a story—” “I know. You were recounting Lysistrata.” Surprise flickered briefly in her eyes, but then turned smug and looked down her aristocratic little nose at him. “Yes, Lysistrata,” she said in a sweet voice that didn’t fool him for one minute. “Surely you have no objection to my educating the women on the great works of literature, Captain Horn.” “None at all.” He set his hands on his hips. “But I question your choice of material. Don’t you think Aristophanes is a bit beyond the abilities of your pupils?” He took great pleasure in the shock that passed over Sara’s face before she caught herself. Ignoring the rustle of whispers among the women, she stood a little straighter. “As if you know anything at all about Aristophanes.” “I don’t have to be an English lordling to know literature, Sara. I know all the blasted writers you English make so much of. Any one of them would have been a better choice for your charges than Aristophanes.” As she continued to glower at him unconvinced, he scoured his memory, searching through the hundreds of verse passages his English father had literally pounded into him. “You might have chosen Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew, for example—‘fie, fie! Unknit that threatening unkind brow. / And dart not scornful glances from those eyes / to wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor.’” It had been a long time since he’d recited his father’s favorite passages of Shakespeare, but the words were as fresh as if he’d learned them only yesterday. And if anyone knew how to use literature as a weapon, he did. His father had delighted in tormenting him with quotes about unrepentant children. Sara gaped at him as the other women looked from him to her in confusion. “How . . . I mean . . . when could you possibly—” “Never mind that. The point us, you’re telling them the tale of Lysistrata when what you should be telling them is ‘thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper. /thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee / and for thy maintenance commits his body / to painful labour by both sea and land.’” Her surprise at this knowledge of Shakespeare seemed to vanish as she recognized the passage he was quoting—the scene where Katherine accepts Petruchio as her lord and master before all her father’s guests. Sara’s eyes glittered as she stepped from among the women and came nearer to him. “We are not your wives yet. And Shakespeare also said ‘sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more / men were deceivers ever / one foot on sea and one on shore / to one thing constant never.’” “Ah, yes. Much Ado About Nothing. But even Beatrice changes her tune in the end, doesn’t she? I believe it’s Beatrice who says, ‘contempt, farewell! And maiden pride, adieu! / no glory lives behind the back of such./ and Benedick, love on, I will requite thee, / taming my wild heart to thy loving hand.’” “She was tricked into saying that! She was forced to acknowledge him as surely as you are forcing us!” “Forcing you?” he shouted. “You don’t know the meaning of force! I swear, if you—” He broke off when he realized that the women were staring at him with eyes round and fearful. Sara was twisting his words to make him sound like a monster. And succeeding, too, confound her.

We must remember with Heine that Aristophanes is the God of this ironic earth, and that all argument is apparently vitiated from the start by the simple fact that Wagner and a rooster are given an analogous method of making love. And therefore it seems impeccable logic to say that all that is most unlike the rooster is the most spiritual part of love. All will agree on that, schisms only arise when one tries to decide what does go farthest from the bird's automatic mechanism. Certainly not a Dante-Beatrice affair which is only the negation of the rooster in terms of the swooning bombast of adolescence, the first onslaught of a force which the sufferer cannot control or inhabit with all the potentialities of his body and soul. But the rooster is troubled by no dreams of a divine orgy, no carnival-loves like Beethoven's Fourth Symphony, no heroic and shining lust gathering and swinging into a merry embrace like the third act of Siegfried. It is desire in this sense that goes farthest from the animal.

În ”Lysistrata” femeile ateniene se revoltă împotriva bărbaților care nu mai contenesc cu războiul, politica și zeii. Încet-încet, femeile îi deposedează pe bărbați de toate instrumentele îndeletnicilor/puterii lor. Totul începe cu decizia lor unanimă de a nu mai accepta amorul. Asta, după cum vă imaginați, induce rapid o năuceală generală în Atena, care se umple de bărbați nervoși și frustrați, în continuă erecție.

What doesn’t polite society, in all seriousness, want to discuss? Sex, money, political corruption, bodily functions, religion, loss and despair? These have been the very subjects attracting writers of comedy since Aristophanes penned “Lysistrata” as a vehicle for the young Joan Rivers.

We looked it up. It's Lysistrata (aka The One Where They All Have Boners).