MEDEA: The children are dead. I say this to make you suffer.

MEDEA: The gods know who was the author of this sorrow.JASON: Yes, the gods know indeed, they know your loathsome heart.MEDEA: Hate me. But I tire of your barking bitterness.

A rare spoil for a man Is the winning of a good wife; very Plentiful are the worthless women.

It's not beauty but fine qualities, my girl, that keep a husband.