Boys, never mourn the warrior! What though he miss the mark!
Though he err once or twice, he'll swoop to arms once more,
sling a carnation on his ear, then cock his cap,
and once more friends will throng about his groaning boards.
    His friends feast in his courtyards, eat and drink with joy,
then strike up rousing songs until their hearts catch fire.
    Brandish the torches now, push on, our horses neigh,
this whole world's grown too narrow, and I choke for air!
    Out of rams' horns, I make curved bows, swift ships from trees,
I gulp down birds and beasts, drink undiluted wine,
and wake at dawn to find the meat has climbed my head
and burst in gallant flame that spies and hails the world.
    I grab an ax, hack out a god, bow down and worship,
but then I see him one clear dawn and raise my ax:
'Blockhead, dry log, my heart has no more room for you,
nor can you hold my strength, and I shall knock you down!'
    Then I hack God to kindling, throw him in the hearth,
and in the darkness stretch my still-unsated hands,
grab women like soft clay and with them mold more men,
then set them loose on earth that they may dry in sun:
'Ahoy, my lads, let's see where this great world will end,
how far the soul will stretch without the bowstring snapping,
but if it snaps, my friends, don't mind, it soon will mend
and once again the arrow will rise in light and strike the sun!'

From Chapter 12 of the epic poem
"The Odyssey - A Modern Sequel"
By Nikos Kazantzakis.