We moeten ons Sisyphus voorstellen als gelukkig.
But a man's beauty represents inner, functional truths: his face shows what he can do.
Sometimes he picked up his watch and stared as the minute hand shifted from one number to the next, marveling that five minutes should seem so interminable. Doubtless that watch opened the way—a painful and tormenting way—which leads to the supreme art of doing nothing.
I answered that, of recent years, I'd rather lost the habit of noting my feelings, and hardly knew what to answer. I could truthfully say I'd been quite fond of Mother— but really that didn't mean much. All normal people, I added as on afterthought, had more or less desired the death of those they loved, at some time or another.
The true artist stands midway between what he imagines and what he does. He is the one who is 'capable of.' he could be what he describes, experience what he writes. The mere act would limit him; he would be the one who has acted.
The struggle, itself, toward the summit suffices to fill the human heart.