Aeschylus (Greek: Αἰσχύλος; 525 BC – 456 BC) was a playwright of ancient Greece, the earliest of the three greatest Greek tragedians, the others being Sophocles and Euripides.
So in the Libyan fable it is told That once an eagle, stricken with a dart, Said, when he saw the fashion of the shaft, "With our own feathers, not by others' hands, Are we now smitten."
καὶ ζῶν με δαίσεις οὐδὲ πρὸς βωμῷ σφαγείς
Clytemnestra: He collapsed, snorting his life away, spitting great gobs of blood all over me, drenching me in showers of his dark blood. And I rejoiced—just as the fecund earth rejoices when the heavens send spring rains
For fear, enforcing goodness, Must somewhere reign enthroned, And watch men’s ways, and teach them, Through self-inflicted sorrow, That sin is not condoned. What man, no longer nursing Fear at his heart – what city, Once fear is cast away, Will bow the knee to Justice As in an earlier day?
For obstinacy standing alone is the weakest of all things in one whose mind is not possessed by wisdom.
But there is a cure in the house, and not outside it, no, not from others but from them, their bloody strife. We sing to you, dark gods beneath the earth.
For not many men . . . can love a friend who fortune prospers without envying; and about the envious brain cold poison clings and doubles all the pain life brings him. His own woundings he must nurse, and feel another's gladness like a curse.