Old Men Are Children Once Again A

The Burning Gaze Of A Young Woman, Such As Hath Tasted Man, Shall Not Escape Me; For I Have A Spirit Keen To Mark These Things.

Unjustly Men Hate Death, Which Is The Greatest Defence Against Their Many Ills.

By Time And Age Full Many Things Are Taught.

The So-called Mother Of The Child Isn't The Child's Begetter, But Only A Sort Of Nursing Soil For The New-sown Seed. The Man, The One On Top, Is The True Parent, While She, A Stranger, Foster's A Stranger's Sprout.

But Who Can Describe The Overweening Pride Of Men? Or Women Mad With Passion, Reckless In Their Hearts, Soulmates To Every Kind Of Ruin That Befalls Us? Wild Passion, Unrestrained, Boundless, That Overcomes The Women, Perverts The Yoke Of Wedlock For Beasts And Men Alike.