“Fool! Don’t you see now that I could have poisoned you a hundred times had I been able to live without you.”

Nothing could part us in life, but now in death we are likely to change places, you the Roman lying here in Egyptian soil, and I, helpless woman that I am, being buried in Italy.

Leave the fishing-rod, Great General, to us sovereigns of Pharos and Canopus. Your game is cities and kings and continents.

All strange and terrible events are welcome, but comforts we despise.

Is he a good man?” “Define ‘good’.

I will not be triumphed over.

In praising Antony I have dispraised Caesar.

My honour was not yielded, but conquered merely.

Be it known that we, the greatest, are misthought.

And make death proud to take us.

Only when the last tree has died and the last river been poisoned and the last fish been caught will we realise we cannot eat money.

The poison came in liquid, she was naked all the time.

War with poison and chemicals was not so rare in the ancient world.

Poison’s not bad. It’s a matter of how much.

One Man’s food is another Man’s Poison

Things stand apart so far and differ, that What’s food for one is poison for another.

Poison is in everything, and no thing is without poison. The dosage makes it either a poison or a remedy.

Whether wine is a nourishment, medicine or poison is a matter of dosage.