God was tired. He had stretched out on a rock high in the sky and turned his back on the world. For the first time he felt sad, and deeply bored. He saw that his people - who in his language he called - were small and ridiculous, and he was gripped by an awful rage because he had created them with such love. But that had been so long ago, he couldn't remember any of it now. And now he was old. His love seemed old, too, and he was flooded with nostalgia for the passion he had felt in dreaming the World. [...]
Primeiro parágrafo do livro The Sleepwalker de Margarita Karapanou (tradução do grego para o inglês de Karen Emmerich).
