I was born to share love$$$ not hate$$$ said Antigone. Go then$$$ and share your love for the dead$$$ responds Creon.

They are dying$$$ the old oracles sent to Laius$$$ now our masters strike them off the rolls. Nowhere Apollo's golden glory now -- the gods$$$ the gods go down.

Tell me the news$$$ again$$$ whatever it is... sorrow and I are hardly strangers. I can bear the worst.

Yet I pity the poor wretch$$$ though he's my enemy. He's yoked to an evil delusion$$$ but the same fate could be mine. I see clearly: we who live are all phantoms$$$ fleeing shadows.

The tyrant is a child of Pride<br>Who drinks from his sickening cup Recklessness and vanity$$$<br>Until from his high crest headlong<br>He plummets to the dust of hope.

Well$$$ then$$$ let's not just trust the likelihood based on painting.

Nobody is qualified to become a statesman who is entirely ignorant of the problem of wheat.

How many things can I do without?

The children now love luxury. They have bad manners$$$ contempt for authority; they show disrespect for elders and love chatter in place of exercise.

It ain't no fun if the homies can't have none.