I watched a small larva trying to climb a steep incline. It fell constantly because it was perfectly smooth with no appendages and began again and again, its fat little body turning over itself, exposed to all dangers. It was like a blind machine. Finally it reached a little chink that I had not seen. Could it have known that the chink was there or is it just that chance always favours persistence? It crawled in for a deserved rest. This mindless little worm did not live for circumstances (“I am me plus my circumstances” — Ortega y Gasset), but for life itself. Therefore it gave itself entirely to what it was doing. And it didn’t even know it. This worm lived a saga. If a human did half of what this worm did, his chest would be decorated with medals.