None but a fool or an infant could forget a father gone so far and cold. No. Lament is a pattern cut and fitted around my mind—like the bird who calls Itys! Itys! endlessly, bird of grief, angel of Zeus. O heartdragging Niobe, I count you a god: buried in rock yet always you weep.
Success is dependent on effort.
There let her pray to the one god she worships: Death--who knows?--may just reprieve her from death. Or she may learn a last, better late than never, what a waste of breath it is to worship Death.
Friendship is a tension. It makes delicate demands.
There is nothing more hateful than bad advice.
I have nothing but contempt for the kind of governor who is afraid, for whatever reason, to follow the course that he knows is best for the State.