The tyrant is a child of Pride Who drinks from his great sickening cup Recklessness and vanity, Until from his high crest headlong He plummets to the dust of hope. 7

The greatest griefs are those we cause ourselves.

How dreadful knowledge of the truth can be When there’s no help in truth!

Ships are only hulls, high walls are nothing, When no life moves in the empty passageways.

There is no happiness where there is no wisdom; No wisdom but in submission to the gods. Big words are always punished, And proud men in old age learn to be wise.

Love, unconquerable, Waster of rich men, keeper Of warm lights and all-night vigil In the soft face of a girl: Sea-wanderer, forest-visitor! Even the pure immortals cannot escape you, And mortal man, in his one day’s dusk, Trembles before your glory.

The ideal condition Would be, I admit, that men should be right by instinct; But since we are all likely to go astray, The reasonable thing is to learn from those who can teach.

Anarchy, anarchy! Show me a greater evil! This is why cities tumble and the great houses rain down, This is what scatters armies!

Show me the man who keeps his house in hand, He’s fit for public authority.

All that is and shall be, And all the past, is his [Zeus’s].