The world is at stage and the play is badly casted. The best thing is not to be, the next best thing is to die. To die in dreams. For everything you do, many things have to die.And thou didst divide the sea before them, so that they went through the midst of the sea on the dry land; and their persecutors thou threwest into the deeps, as a stone into mighty waters. Rage-goddess, sing the rage of Peleus' son Achilles, murderous, doomed, that cost the Achaeans countless losses, hurling down to the House of Death so many sturdy souls, great fighters' souls, but made their bodies carrion, feast for the dogs and birds, and the will of Zeus was moving toward its end. Welcome to my house. Come freely. Go safely. And leave something of the happiness you bring! How dare you touch him, any of you? How dare you cast eyes on him when I had forbidden it? Back, I tell you all! This man belongs to me! Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns driven time and again off course, once he had plundered the hallowed heights of Troy. What, Polyphemus, what in the world's the trouble? Roaring out in the godsent night to rob us of our sleep. surely no one's rustling your flocks against your will- surely no one's trying to kill you by fraud or by force! Nobody friends -Polyphemus bellowed back from his cave- Nobody's killing me now by fraud and not by force!