Or it ain’t Laius of Thebes whose son will slay him but some mythic king, an imagined being, the stuff of legend, not one specific man, not me.”Īt these words, Laius gave it up. This…were no fate but a frivolous whim, a God’s caprice it may be blotted from the books as easily as entered. …And it’s not as if I am claiming the truth as my desert merely that I am man enough to face it.
#Blow away windbag oblivion soundbyte full
“Aw, get to the point! Your boss Apollo knows full well that I bow to no man in His propitiation: I keep my accounts in order you can check: nobody welshes.
I am perfumed with Olympian purpose and breathe no meaner air.” “A fate I share with all but the Immortals.” “The particulars will undo you.” “You can neither learn to live with your fate nor change it.” “How?” I rule at least within my own extensive bailiwick. …There! When greatness reveals its motive, even the Gods will honor the act with honesty. “Sibyl: I would establish my continuity with the life process. Plain speaking, please.” “ Overwhelms the present!” “You don’t know how lucky you are, man.” “You mean: now.” As we know, he could not have been more wrong. Thus it was with an air of confidence-seeking-confirmation that Laius awaited the words of the oracle. And if he had as yet no heir, no way of imagining himself into a future he’d never see, this one knot might soon be undone, he believed, setting great store by this latest wife, Jocasta, barely nubile when they wed. He’d outlived two wives who had in any case both proved barren. He’d attained late middle age but wore it lightly. “Prior to Pandora, women didn’t menstruate and childbirth was a doddle.”-H.B.Real, D.D.