I love the old way best, the simple way of poison, where we too are strong as men.
EuripidesRead
What anger worse or slower to abate then lovers love when it turns to hate.
Interpretation
The transition from love to hate in a relationship can be prolonged and difficult.
This quote reflects on the intense emotions involved in romantic relationships, emphasizing that love can transform into hate, and such a transition can be slow and painful. It suggests that when love turns sour, the remnants of those strong feelings linger, making it hard for individuals to move on and detach from the emotional bond that once united them.
In practice
During a speech about overcoming relationship challenges.
I love the old way best, the simple way of poison, where we too are strong as men.
Mankind . . . possesses two supreme blessings. First of these is the goddess Demeter, or Earth whichever name you choose to call her by. It was she who gave to man his nourishment of grain. But after her there came the son of Semele, who matched her present by inventing liquid wine as his gift to man. For filled with that good gift, suffering mankind forgets its grief; from it comes sleep; with it oblivion of the troubles of the day. There is no other medicine for misery.
Money is far more persuasive than logical arguments.
Those whom God wishes to destroy, he first makes mad.
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.
Waste not fresh tears over old griefs.
Rituals are important. Nowadays it's hip not to be married. I'm not interested in being hip.
Is there something about the gay experience, being gay and the gay experience, that pushes us even more than other people toward competition?
Anybody who's been through a divorce will tell you that at one point. they've thought murder. The line between thinking murder and doing murder isn't that major.
My brother Allie had this left-handed fielder's mitt. he was left handed. The thing that was descriptive about it though, was that he had poems written all over the fingers and the pocket and everywhere. In green ink. He wrote them on it so that he'd have something to read when he was in the field and nobody was up to bat
Word by word, the language of women so often begins with a whisper.
I not only have my secrets, I am my secrets. And you are yours. Our secrets are human secrets, and our trusting each other enough to share them with each other has much to do with the secret of what it means to be human.
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