You are not one; you are an army corps. A moment under the sun illuminates one of your faces. And straightway it is extinguished and another, younger than you, lights up behind you. Thy race is the great body, past, present and future. Thou art a greasy expression, this is the face. Thou art the shadow, she is the meat. ...Straight as thou were born, a new possibility was born with thee, a smoother shudder staggers the great gloomy heart of thy sock. Thou bringest, willy-nilly, a new rhythm. A new desire, a new Idea, a grief new. Willingly or not, you enrich your father's body. ...your first duty, in fulfilling your service to the race, is to feel all the ancestors within you. The second is to enlighten their momentum and carry on their work. Your third duty, to hand down to the son the great command to surpass you. Strive to make sense of man's incoherent wrestling. ...what is our duty? To lift the head from the text, a moment, as long as our bowels can bear it, and breathe the overseas song. To mingle the adventures, to make sense of the journey, to wrestle inextricably with men, with gods, and with animals, and slowly, patiently, to amplify within our brakes, the future from our future, Ithaca.