“To whom shall I run for help in my trouble, to whom shall I complain of the ravaging flies that rob me of my breath, and like enemies press hard on me! They run acrossc my eyes and brows, and whisper love songs in my ears. I want to eat my meal alone, but they, like wolves, share it with me, and drink from my cup of wine as if they were invited guests or kin. (...) But I hope the winter will destroy them with its cold wind and snow, and rain, else I would despise life on their account.”