„Do you dance?“ he asked me intensely. „Do you dance?“
„No? [.....] Oh, well, [.....] then I’ll dance, boss. Sit further away, so that I don’t barge into you.“
He made a leap, rushed out of the hut, cast off his shoes, his coat, his vest, [.....] and started dancing. His face was still black with coal. The whites of his eyes gleamed.
He threw himself into the dance, clapping his hands, leaping and pirouetting in the air, falling on to his knees, leaping again with his legs tucked up – it was as if he were made of rubber. He suddenly made tremendous bounds into the air, as if he wished to conquer the laws of nature and fly away. One felt that in this old body of his there was a soul struggling to carry away this flesh and cast itself like a meteor into the darkness. [.....]
„Zorba! Zorba! I shouted. „That’s enough!“ [.....] But what was the use of my shouting? How could Zorba hear my cries from the earth? His organs had become like those of a bird.
( Zorba the Greek by Nikos Kazantzakis )