A Young Man Is Embarrassed To Question

I Believe Children Are The Future...which Is Why They Must Be Stopped Now!

Far From Me Be The Gift Of Bacchus--pernicious, Inflaming Wine, That Weakens Both Body And Mind.

Rather I'd Choose Laboriously To Bear A Weight Of Woes, And Breathe The Vital Air, A Slave To Some Poor Hind That Toils For Bread, Than Reign The Sceptred Monarch Of The Dead.

Is He Not Sacred, Even To The Gods, The Wandering Man Who Comes In Weariness?

No Trust Is To Be Placed In Women.