A tragedy need not have blood and death; it's enough that it all be filled with that majestic sadness that is the pleasure of tragedy.
And do you count for nothing God who fights for us?
Have there ever been more submissive slaves? Adoring, even in their irons, the God who punishes them.
Hippolytus can feel, and feels nothing for me!
Wrinkles on the brow are the imprints of exploits.
None love, but they who wish to love.