Ah, There Are No Longer Any Children!

We Are All Mortals, And Each Is For Himself.

All Which Is Not Prose Is Verse; And All Which Is Not Verse Is Prose.

Betrayed And Wronged In Everything, I’ll Flee This Bitter World Where Vice Is King, And Seek Some Spot Unpeopled And Apart Where I’ll Be Free To Have An Honest Heart. - Molière, The Misanthrope

The More We Love Our Friends, The Less We Flatter Them; It Is By Excusing Nothing That Pure Love Shows Itself.

I Will Maintain It Before The Whole World.