Odysseus:

As for retaliation of one undeclared infamy, we are pulled out of a shapeless, nameless peace and penned up in kicking, carnivorous bodies, who are driven by their hunger and thirst, their hate, their fear or the naked stupidity, and though in the end are being crippled somewhere on some battlefield of life.

And even if we succeed in becoming old and frail, without being disfigured by body fat, by scars or ulcers, we are going after the counsel of some merciless creator finally to perish – in our greed of life, in our destructive will or underlie to the mere course of time.

And our leftovers, rotting or burnt into coarse ashes, falling back into shapelessness, into the primordial soup of some nebulous original sin, out of which this so-called existence and everything with it, what finally seemed to have been overcome, once again and over again may raise as to end in the never changed way.

~Odysseus, Verbrecher. Schauspiel einer Heimkehr, (Odysseus, Criminal. Spectacle of a Homecoming.) by Christoph Ransmayr~