‘if my womb even now contains any pledge of our love, i, the mother, will scrape my insides with my sword, i will bring it out with the blade.’
‘how could my childish hands do something truly great? could the rage of a girl do this? now, i am medea. my nature has grown with my suffering.’
‘torture me, make me bleed, weigh down my hands with chains, shut me up in a stony jail for an unending night. my guilt will still outweigh my punishment.’
‘never will my bitter rage fall short of total vengeance […] i will destroy and ruin everything. […] true love is afraid of nobody.’
‘love is chased out by rage and rage by love. resentment, yield to love.’