Peace is better.
Molossus.
[Contemptuously.] Peace!
Orestes.
And what is the road to peace? The hate must eat itself out, till it stays for weariness.
Alcimedon.
A long road, stranger, too long and too rough to the feet. We want peace now!
Orestes.
How can you get peace now, when the blood is still wet? He may give all his silver and his kine, but he will hate the men whose blood he has drunk; and though they swear by all the gods of their valley, they will hate him. And hate will out, in time, one way or another.