it becomes conscious. Myths are made for the imagination to breathe life into them. They had thought with some reason that there is no more dreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labor. "What!-by such narrow ways-?" There is but one world, however. The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. Likewise, the absurd man, when he contemplates his torment, silences all the idols.
If this myth is tragic, that is because its hero is conscious. Ancient wisdom confirms modern heroism.
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At that subtle moment when man glances backward over his life, Sisyphus returning toward his rock, in reflective essay on communication that slight pivoting he contemplates that series of unrelated actions which become his fate, created by him, combined under his memory's eye and soon sealed by his death. If the descent is thus sometimes performed in sorrow, it can also take place in joy. There is no fate that can not be surmounted by scorn. According to another tradition, however, he was disposed to practice the profession of highwayman. It is during that return, that pause, that Sisyphus interests. There is no sun without shadow, and it is essential to know the night. The workman of today works everyday in his life at the same tasks, and his fate is no less absurd. He is, as much through his passions as through his torture. Nothing is told us about Sisyphus in the underworld. The boundless grief is too heavy to bear. He was punished for this in the underworld. Mercury came and seized the impudent man by the collar and, snatching him from his joys, lead him forcibly back to the underworld, where his rock was ready for him.