“None but a fool or an infant could forget a father gone so far and cold. No. Lament is a pattern cut and fitted around my mind – like the bird who calls Itys! Itys! endlessly, bird of grief, angel of Zeus. O heartdragging Niobe, I count you a god: buried in rock yet always you weep.”

“None but a fool or an infant could forget a father gone so far and cold. No. Lament is a pattern cut and fitted around my mind – like the bird who calls Itys! Itys! endlessly, bird of grief, angel of Zeus. O heartdragging Niobe, I count you a god: buried in rock yet always you weep.”

— Sophocles