The Pythia (/ˈpɪθiə/,Greek: Πυθία [pyːˈtʰi.a]), commonly known as the Oracle of Delphi, was the name of any priestess throughout the history of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi, which was located on the slopes of Mount Parnassus, beneath the Castalian Spring on the north shore of the Corinthian Gulf in Greece. Each new priestess was selected after the death of the current priestess, and after the legendary death of a man, was always a woman, who surrendered her name and position upon becoming the oracle. The Pythia, established in the 8th century BC, was widely credited for her prophecies inspired by being filled by the spirit of god (or enthusiasmos), in this case Apollo. The Delphic oracle may have been present in some form in Late Mycenaean times, from 1400 BC and was abandoned, and there is evidence that Apollo took over the shrine from an earlier dedication to Gaia. The last recorded response of the oracle was given about 395 A.D. to Emperor Theodosius I, after he had ordered pagan temples to cease operation.
Pythia refers to:
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Pythia is a genus of small air-breathing salt marsh snails, pulmonate gastropod mollusks in the family Ellobiidae.
Pythia is a largely terrestrial genus commonly found in the Indo-Pacific. It lives in mangroves from above high tide to further inland. It is readily differentiated within the family by its dorso-ventrally flattened shell and heavily dentate aperture. Plate gave the first account of Pythia scarabaeus in 1897.
Pythia is the type genus of the subfamily Pythiinae.
Species in the genus Pythia include:
Drink up son
Life is what you make it
While you're having fun
I am lost inside your point of view
Through and through
You were gone
So I starting drnking
Was I in the wrong?
For wishing that you're bleeding for me too
Through and through
Break the chain, let the pain recede
Until you wake again from these ashes
Spill the vein, time to let the water
Wash you clean again
Your father loves you
Break the chain
Take the hate, burn it to the ground
Burn it to the ground
Break the chain
Take the hate, burn it to the ground
Burn it to the ground
In this world we are made of pieces
Either young or old
Good or bad or just a little lost
At your cost
You will find
That your patience only goes as far as mine
Not an inch beyond your final breath
That is death