Having advanced to the limit of boldness, child, you have stumbled against the lofty pedestal of Justice.

Oh child, may you be happier than your father, but in all other respects alike. And then you would not be bad.

You can kill a man but you cant kill a idea.

To never have been born may be the greatest boon of all.

Sleep, thou patron of mankind, Great physician of the mind Who does nor pain nor sorrow know, Sweetest balm of every woe.

But whoever gives birth to useless children, what would you say of him except that he has bred sorrows for himself, and furnishes laughter for his enemies.

What men have seen they know. . . .