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356 pages, Paperback
“Tantalos also I saw in his misery, standing in a lake up to his chin, always thirsty, but try as he would, not a drop could he lap up: for as often as the poor old man dipped his head to take a drink, the water was sucked back and disappeared until the dark earth showed under his feet as fate dried it away. Tall trees in full leaf dangled their fruit over his head, pears and pomegranates and fine juicy apples, sweet figs and ripe olives, but as often as the poor old man reached out a hand to catch one, the wind tossed them all up to the clouds.”
“Sisyphos also I saw and his tedious task, as he held up a monstrous stone with both hands. Scrambling with his feet, and pushing with his hands, he heaved the stone up the hill; but just as he was about to topple it over the crest, the weight was too much for him, and turned it back: downalong to the ground rolled the stone pitiless. Then he would push it again, stretching and struggling, with sweat pouring off every limb and the dust rising from his head.”